


Alphabetically Yours

by agentmarvel



Category: American Actor RPF, Captain America (Movies) RPF, Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4258995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by 10 Beautiful Words by Chellendora.<br/>If you haven't read that particular piece yet, please do! It's fantastic!</p><p>- on hiatus</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A - Acquaint

**acquaint** \- _transitive verb_

- to cause to know personally

\- to make familiar: cause to know firsthand

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Table reads… What an absolute fucking hell. Everyone gathered around in a giant square, sitting in possibly the most god awful, uncomfortable plastic chairs. Odds are they’d want to run through the full script at least two or three times. It’d take well over half an hour, considering the size, to get the rest of the cast settled in to read it in the first place. Plus, after you factor in bathroom breaks, food breaks, last minute discussions of script changes, and all that jazz, each attempted read could take at least three and a half hours. Three full run-throughs could take potentially upwards of twelve hours.

But all the suffering was not without its perks. You had more than plenty attractive co-stars to keep your eyes occupied in your down time. That was the biggest benefit in working with Marvel, the constant eye candy. Muscle upon muscle layered under thick, bulging veins and taut, (usually) tan skin. Jesus _Christ_ , these men were masterpieces carved by the hands of Michelangelo himself. And the women you worked with? The insecurity it instilled within you to work alongside them was almost pathetic. These women were practically flawless in every aspect. It was positively stupefying to be surrounded by these fucking Greek goddesses.

Self-consciousness tends to rear its ugly head in times when a prompt arrival is in such high demand. So, of course, per the usual, you were the first one to show up. You’d managed to pick up some breakfast and your coffee and get seated with twenty minutes left to spare. Not another living soul was spotted in the journey from your car to the conference room, not even the film producers. You had started to worry a bit, wondering if you were even there on the right day. The date emailed to you did, in fact, match the date showing on your phone, and the time and location were correct: 7 am, building A, room 17.

Name cards were placed on top of the table, marking each chair for its designated occupant. After briefly skimming the paper slips, you’d found yours. They’d elected to seat you between Sebastian Stan and Chris Evans. Sebastian, you knew quite well. In between Marvel films, you’d worked with him on a few occasions, both on television and in other films. And what a pleasure he was to work with! He was always spouting off compliments to everyone around him and cracking jokes just to see others laugh. Now, Chris, on the other hand, you’d never met, but you definitely had heard a lot of wonderful things about him. He had an outstanding reputation with both his co-stars and the public. Honestly, you’d be lying through your teeth if you said you weren’t absolutely stoked to be working with him.

Your fingers fluttered through the pages of your script, looking specifically for your character’s name. Since you’d only gotten your copy the night before, there hadn’t been much time to highlight your sections. Might as well do it while you have time, right? Using one hand to hold your place, you popped the cap off of your highlighter with your front teeth and slipped it on the back so not to lose it. The bright pink ink flowed effortlessly over the words, marking each appearance with caution.

Two sets of footsteps were rapidly approaching in the hallway, accompanied by friendly chatter. It was a familiar sound, but not quite enough to distract you from your task. Your hands alternated between your coffee and the pages fluidly, miraculously with no spills. You supposed you’d probably had enough practice in the past, since your agent liked to wait until the last possible minute to give you scripts.

“Hey, trouble!” You looked up. Sebastian was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. His hair was tied sloppily out of his face, allowing the corners of his eyes to crinkle when he smiled at you. He had a slight wrinkle in his t-shirt, just under the collar, that almost mirrored his eyes. You returned the gesture, eyeing the silhouette behind him.

“Hey yourself,” you replied, placing the cap back on the highlighter. With a gentle nudge, you pushed the chair back. The script folded shut and you set your coffee cup on the cover. Sebastian started around the edge of the tables, narrowly avoiding a few chairs. You met him in the middle, skirting around the corners. His arms opened wide and engulfed you warmly. A large hand clapped on your back a few times, and he pulled back, taking your face in both of his hands. His eyes pinpointed every single detail, scanning every feature, presumably for anything different.

“Lookin’ good these days,” he muttered with a snicker.

“Oh, like I didn’t before?” you quipped, smacking his chest. He retreated, feigning hurt.

“Guess I’m not the only one who bulked up. Damn.” His nimble fingers rubbed at his sternum as he chuckled. With half a turn, he gestured to the other man in the doorway. “Mackie, come here, man. This is the girl I was telling you about!”

A second body stepped into the room, joining the pair of you. He stood at about the same height as Sebastian. His welcoming brown eyes locked on yours and he smiled. In a few short strides, he stepped up behind Seb. Sebastian introduced you, and you shook his hand firmly. His fingers lingered for a moment.

“Very nice to meet you officially, Anthony. I’d hate to spend the next two months referring to you as ‘the tall, dark, and handsome one’.” He chuckled heartily, swatting Sebastian’s chest with the back of his hand.

“Super forward, man. I like this girl. Why didn’t you tell me she was smokin’ hot?” You cocked a playful eyebrow and looked at Sebastian. He brushed it off, shaking his head. You gestured back to where you had been sitting before their arrival.

“You two are going to be stuck next to me all day,” you beamed, leading back to your chair. Before sitting down, you smoothed out the fabric of your skirt, tucking it beneath your legs to avoid any potential mishaps. Sebastian and Anthony shared a mischievous look, following close behind.

“Aw, hell no! Man, y’all stuck me a seat away from the pretty lady? That’s cold, fellas, that’s cold,” Anthony cracked. He let out a pathetic whine. “Switch with me, man. Evans is gonna come up in here and put the moves on this girl. I gotta be able to swoop in and save the day!” Sebastian shook his head and scooted his chair back. He kicked his feet up, letting his ankles cross and come to rest with his heels against the table top.

“Sorry, bud. You know the rules.” Anthony huffed, dropping himself into his own chair, muttering ‘that’s some bullshit’. Sebastian nudged you with his elbow. “You have coffee in that cup?” You nodded. “Mind if I steal a sip?” You grabbed the cup and took a quick swig before offering it to him. He took it with a gracious smile, took a long drink, and handed the cup back. You couldn’t help but watch. Those lips plagued your dreams for the first six months you had known him. He must’ve known you were staring, because he intentionally licked a stripe across his lower lip and bite down. Your eyes darted between his mouth and your coffee.

“Hey, fellas!” Someone new was settled in the doorway. A taller man with wet black hair, slicked back on the top, but trimmed short and neat on the sides, held his hand up in a friendly wave. Anthony and Sebastian waved back, both grinning. Of course, you knew who he was. You’d seen many of his films, and frankly, you were a fan. Sebastian waiting until the man rounded the table to introduce you.

“This is Frank. Frank Grillo, badass extraordinaire. Frank, this is-” Frank cut him off with a smug smirk.

“Oh, I _know_ who she is. Nice to meet you, sweetheart, I’m a big fan.” He extended his hand to take yours. A mischievous kiss was pressed to your knuckles with an accompanying wink. “Even more stunning off-screen.”

A blush crept across your cheeks, and you looked down with a coy smile. _What is with these damn Marvel men today?_ Frank returned your hand slowly, earning a snicker from Anthony and a half-hearted grin from Sebastian.

A small group of three made their way in, finding their respective seats. Anthony introduced them as Jeremy Renner, Elizabeth Olsen, and Don Cheadle. Other cast and crew slowly began to filter in, and Sebastian, ever the social butterfly, introduced you to everyone you had yet to meet. They were all incredibly friendly, offering up compliments and fawning over your prior works. Likewise, you had to gush on a few occasions as well.

When you looked at your phone again, there were mere minutes left before the directors were supposed to begin _trying_ to wind everyone down to get started. The two actors most essential to the production had yet to show up, including the one that was assigned a seat beside you. Apparently you weren’t the only one to notice. You heard Sebastian say “It’s not like Evans to be late…”

No sooner than he finished his sentence, you saw two men walk in. One was easily the most identifiable man in the world: Robert Downey, Jr., and the second was none other than Chris Evans. The pair of them were in mid-laugh. Chris had one hand clapped across his chest and the other on Robert’s back. Robert patted Chris’ shoulder and pointed towards his empty. Chris nodded and began to make his way over after Robert sat down. He shoved the sleeves of his henley slowly up his arms, pushing them to his elbows.

Chris took a seat next to you, and things seemed to be moving in slow motion. When he turned to you and offered out his hand, your eyes darted to his lips. They parted slightly, revealing a scintillating smile. Your fingers met his, and he wrapped his vacant hand around the back of yours.

“Hi, I’m Chris.” You beamed back, introducing yourself. He chuckled, voice laced with a newfound enthusiasm. “I gotta say… I’m really looking forward to finally working with you.”

“And you as well, Chris. It’s great to finally meet you.” His grin widened, and his hand was still enveloping yours.

“You, too! I’ve heard great things from a lot of people. Especially Sebastian.” Chris glanced over your shoulder with a wink, and you felt a hand on your back. You turned to meet Sebastian’s stare.

“Which reminds me, Mackie and I are going out for lunch later, you wanna come with?” You laughed a little, but agreed. Seb leaned over to look at Chris again. “You’re more than welcome to join us, too. We’ve got some catching up to do.”

You turned back to Chris, who was nodding.

“I’d love to.”

 

*

 

Everyone dispersed for lunch somewhat sooner than anticipated. The read through had started in a relatively timely manner, and you were allotted a two-hour lunch. Anthony and Sebastian had agreed that they were in the mood for Chinese food, which was perfectly fine with you and seemingly exciting for Chris. Two cabs were called for, and once you were all bunched outside, Chris volunteered to share his with you. You, of course, politely accepted.

“Mind telling me why didn’t I meet you when I filmed my cameo? I mean, you _did_ work on both Thor films,” he asked, securing his seatbelt with a playful smirk. You nodded, tightening down your own.

“I did, yeah. Went to get breakfast, and I came back to Kat showing me her selfie. I was so disappointed. Is that weird?” He chuckled, patting your knee.

“Not weird at all. After all the great things I’ve heard from Sebastian and Hemsworth, I was pretty bummed, too. Hell, even Tom was fawning over you. Said you’re a really sweet girl. He looked for you for a while before I left, but hey! Now, I’ve got you to myself in a cab. I’d say that more than makes up for it.” The driver shot him a strange look in the rearview mirror, and you couldn’t help but snicker a bit. “That sounded creepy, didn’t it?”

“Just a little bit.”

The cab took the shortest route to the restaurant, getting you there mere moments after the others. Sebastian and Anthony had already selected a table, and were making suggestive faces when Chris walked in with his arm around your waist, guiding you towards them. He was kind enough to pull out your chair for you and even more kind not comment on the looks he was getting.

After you each ordered, it went straight into conversation.

“So, what all have you guys been up to lately?” you inquired, taking a sip of your drink.

“Well,” Sebastian began. “Straight after press and premieres for the Winter Soldier, I had to head off to film a few new movies. Had some time off to spend with my family, spent a lot of time training with Don for this, and now I’m here with you hooligans.” Anthony chimed in with a similar answer, followed by Chris, who was more or less singing a similar tune. “But what about you? What kind of shenanigans have you been up to since I last saw you?”

“About the same, actually,” you countered. “It’s been… What? A little more than a year?” Sebastian nodded.

“Yes ma’am, which is about eleven months too long.” His foot nudged your ankle under the table, and he grinned.

“Finished two films, just wrapped up press, and now I’m here. Not much different than you busy bees, huh?” Sebastian’s cheeks flushed, like he was about to ask you a humiliating question, and of course, just as you suspected, he did.

“You still seeing that loser - I mean, uh, that Andy guy?” You shook your head, occupying your mouth with your straw. “Good, I’m glad you dumped him, because let me tell you, that guy was a fucking douche. What happened anyways?”

You looked down, fingers wringing together like the motion could stop you from having to answer. Truthfully, everything was a train wreck from start to finish with Andy. Only two people knew the details of your relationship aside from the obvious two involved. One of them was Kat. She was your best friend, so, of course, she had all the details. She’d done her damnedest to talk you into leaving him. Kat hated him with a passion, but tolerated him because his best friend was her brother.

Chris must have sensed your discomfort. He grabbed your bumbling hands underneath the table reassuringly, temporarily diverting the conversation by pointing out that your food was on its way over. Sebastian and Anthony exchanged a concerned glance, but Seb didn’t press you any further on the matter.

Each plate was set in its rightful place. The guys all dug in as soon as the glassware touched the table, but the mention of Andy’s name ruined your appetite. If anything, you felt like you were going to throw up. Regardless, though, you pushed through it. Albeit slowly, you managed to eat. All the full mouths at the table didn’t leave too much room for more conversation. No one so much as uttered another word, aside from telling the waitress that everything was fine and the food was great, until the check came.

“No, I invited everyone, so let me get it this time,” Sebastian insisted, sliding the receipt towards himself. Anthony grabbed it from him, eyeing the total.

“Nah. This one’s on me, guys. Let me.” Chris snatched the receipt from Anthony, pairing it with his credit card.

“I got it. Don’t worry about it.” You tugged the slip from Chris, dropping his card on the table in front of him.

“You guys are all a pain in the ass. Just-”

“Listen, I can tell you’re a modern kinda gal, but I got this,” Anthony quipped, taking the paper back. Seb took it from him, and Chris took it again. Seb took it back, and you snagged it from him.

“You guys just wanna split the ticket into four? We’ll each pay for our own?” you suggested, raising an eyebrow. The guys all shared an incredulous look before busting out laughing. You glanced from one man to the next, both eyebrows now arched high. Chris was clutching his chest. Sebastian was swatting his knee. Anthony had his mouth open as wide as he could muster. “Am… Am I missing something?”

Sebastian was the first to calm down enough to speak properly.

“Stubborn ass men, aren’t we? Alright, fellas, compromise. Chris, you covered her cab on the way here. Let Mackie cover lunch, and I’ll cover her cab on the way back. But Mack, you’re only paying for your lunch and hers. Me and Chris, we’ll pay for our own.” Anthony and Chris both shook their heads in an unintentionally synchronized rhythm.

“No way, man. It’s the least I can do after not seeing you guys for so long,” Chris countered, pulling the receipt from your grasp. He tucked his card back into it and handed it to the waiting waitress. Sebastian and Anthony protested, but she was already on her way off with it. Chris shot you a lopsided grin. “And it’s our first film together, so I gotta be a gentleman.”

Anthony snorted, trying to hold back another laugh.

“You? A gentleman? Oh, man, you gotta be kidding!” Chris cocked an arrogant eyebrow and that snarky smirk appeared. He insisted that he had no idea what Anthony meant, which spurred a sharp chuckle from Sebastian. “You got the nastiest mouth I ever heard in my life, man! That ain’t very gentlemanly of you!”

Chris let out a raucous laugh, grasping a fistful of his shirt. The sound carried across the room, causing heads to turn back towards your table. Sebastian leaned across the table, shushing Chris.

“Whoa there!” you interjected. “Some ladies find filthy mouths attractive!” Chris’ mouth formed a wide ‘o’, which quickly turned into a full smile. Sebastian and Anthony were staring at each other with the same expression. The shock wore off within a few seconds, and more obnoxious laughter erupted from the group.

“Oh-ho-ho! The lady has spoken!” Chris hooted, slapping his knee. You shot a wink across to Mackie, which only made him laugh harder. No sound was coming out of any of them at this point, just clapping like silent seals, so you just crossed your legs, leaned back in your chair, and took another sip of your drink.

The waitress returned with Chris’ card and a copy of the receipt for him to sign. With a flourish, he scrawled his signature on the dotted line and left a more than generous tip. After a profuse apology to her for all the noise coming from your table, the four of you headed outside, where Chris hailed another cab for the ride back. Sebastian followed his lead, flagging down another.

Anthony smacked Seb in the chest. He was throwing his hands around, laughing, but insistently badgering Sebastian. You heard Seb tell him to shut up and Chris saying your name. When you turned, Chris was holding open the door to your cab, gesturing for you to get in.

“We’ll meet you there, guys,” Chris called over, sliding in behind you. There was no chance for either Sebastian or Anthony to answer before the door latched with an audible click, following by the paired clicks of your seatbelts. He gave the driver the address of the studio, and for a few blocks, the two of you sat in silence.

“Thank you for lunch,” you finally added, breaking the ice. Chris gave you a wide grin, giving you a full view of his megawatt smile.

“You are… very welcome. Maybe one of these days we can do it again.” He nudged your thigh with his knee. It was posed as more of a statement than a question, and you found few words to respond correctly. Instead, you just nodded.

“Absolutely. We’ve got a few more days of doing reads. I’m sure the guys would enjoy it. You know, as long as there are no other fights over the tab.” That earned an inward scoff from Chris. He cast his eyes down to his lap and slipped his sunglasses back on.

The cab came to a full stop, and you looked out the window. The studio was mere steps away. Anthony and Sebastian were stalled outside the front door, seemingly waiting. They were in the midst of another active conversation, with flying hands and laughter. You reached for the handle of your door to let yourself out, but Chris stopped you, placing a hand on your knee.

“I, uh… I didn’t mean lunch with the guys. I meant just me and you. Alone. What do you say?”


	2. B - Bizarre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god for Marilyn. This chapter would've taken years without her. ♡  
> Leave some feedback, if you feel so inclined. : )
> 
> <3

**bizarre** – _adjective_

\- markedly unusual in appearance, style, or general character and often involving incongruous or unexpected elements;

\- outrageously or whimsically strange; odd

* * *

 

 

 

Christopher was an enigma wrapped in a mystery, boxed in by an ambiguous puzzle. He was a walking contradiction in every sense of the term. At the drop of a hat, he’d go from playful to dead serious. One moment, he would be calculating and eloquent, and the next, he would fit in perfectly amongst sailors. There were times when he knew to be serious and other times when he would outwardly say ‘fuck it’ and start cracking jokes. So many things about him, so many facets, and to you, it was completely perplexing.

“So, let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Kat snickered. “He basically asked you on a date and you’re considering blowing him off? Are you fucking crazy?” You shook your head, looking incredulously as the screen of your phone. The picture on display was from 2010, whilst filming _Thor_. You were both pulling positively preposterous faces. Her tongue was out, face scrunched up, and you had your cheeks puffed up and eyes crossed. Quite the pair the two of you were, and no one could deny it.

“Kat, no. That’s not… That’s not what I’m saying. I-”

“So, you _are_ gonna go?”

“Kat,” you warned, sighing loudly. “I think you’re reading too much into it. He invited me for lunch, which, as far as I know, is a _friendly_ move, not a suggested date. We’re going to be working together for the next three months. We might as well get to know each other to make things less weird.”

“Yeah, but like, kind of a date, though. But whatever. Text me when you’re done, okay? I’m dying for a girl’s night.” You cracked a half smile and agreed.

“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you, too!” And with that, the line went dead. Your phone beeped to notify you that the call had ended. Hastily, you began to make your way back inside. After three days of reading, you were absolutely exhausted. More than half of the last 72 hours had been spent in a stuffy room filled with both friends and strangers alike. Your lunch breaks had been commandeered by the make-up department, trying to piece together your final look for filming. After each read, the wardrobe department would whisk you away for measurements. In addition to measurements, they molded precise replicas of your face and arms, which they would be sure it fit prior to painting. With all the hustle and bustle, you were left with no time to yourself, aside from the limited time you spent asleep.

You slipped back into the conference room without ceremony, sliding back into your seat in silence. Sebastian had apparently returned before you, sitting with an extra cup of coffee. He was hunched over, talking to Chris. Chris was leaning across your chair in the midst of an incredibly lively conversation. The motion of his hands was repetitive, but very particular, like they were providing the exact definition of his words. Most of the conversation was inaudible, but there was one sentence in particular that you were able to make out.

“Ask her, then,” Sebastian chuckled, ducking his head slightly. Chris leaned a little closer to him, saying something else. There was an almost tantalizing movement to his lips. Even with the most intent of focus, you couldn’t read those lips. _God_ , they just _kept_ _moving_ … They’d part and touch and part again. The tip of his tongue would peek just between his teeth on certain letter sounds, and at the end of every sentence, it’d move just a bit further to lick a thin stripe across his full lower lip. His lips were stretching into a wide smile, ironing out the mild crack and creases. One finicky indentation refused to fail, the one directly down the center of the lower. It ran slightly deeper than the others, slightly darker. The edges were somewhat beginning to peel, looking pallid in comparison to the vivid pink on either side. It was fascinating watching him talk. Every letter was pronounced with dexterity, each word punctuated with proclivity. The eighth wonder of the world was how anyone could watch him talk without immediately dropping their pants. That mouth was sin incarnate, debauchery and depravity at its finest. His was the kind that inspired the sort of thoughts sure to earn you a first-class one-way hand-punched ticket straight to Hell.

At the moment, though, it looked like his mouth was a skipping disk. He kept repeating the same set of syllables. Once it processed, you realize that _a.)_ _you were staring_ , and _b.) those staggered repeating sounds were actually your name_. You blinked a few times, then looked Chris in the eye.

“You okay?” he wondered aloud, cocking an eyebrow. You nodded and resumed the trek towards your seat. With little grace and even less coordination, your hip slammed into the jutting corner of the table. A string of hearty profanity tumbled from your lips. _Are you fucking kidding me?!_

Before Chris or Sebastian could say anything, you pushed through it, plopping yourself down in your seat. Seb nudged the cup of coffee towards you.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” You nodded cautiously. “I don’t mean to sound like a total dick, but you looked like you needed some caffeine earlier. We went during our break, so I brought your favorite.”

You took a long draw from the cup, ignoring the burn of scalding coffee.

“Thanks, Sebs. That was uncharacteristically sweet of you.” With a playful grin, your elbow jarred his. He exhaled through his nose with a chortle, shaking his head. Under his breath, he muttered, “ _Uncharacteristically_ my _ass_. I’m a fuckin’ saint.”

Chris _laughed_. Jesus _Christ_ , that was a beautiful sound. It was a symphony by only the most prolific of compositions. The pitch was neither too high nor too low, and it seemed to house its own echo. It had the same wheezing inhale to begin with, and no matter the volume or caliber, the same chain of events played out. Prior to the eruption, his flawless features would scrunch slightly, creating a crease across the bridge of his nose. Then his mouth would fall open, tugging his lips taut, and this absolutely saintly sound would escape. His right hand always fell across the left side of his chest, clutching at the pectoral muscle. Those stunning blue eyes of his would pinch shut, and his left hand would slap the nearest object, be it the arm of a chair, his thigh, or a table top. No words could even begin to describe just how astonishing of an experience it was to watch this man laugh.

When his hand left his chest, it clapped down on your shoulder. His fingertips pressed gently into your skin, like he was holding on for support. You knew that there was no way you could possibly look at Chris without getting lost again, so you opted to train your eyes on the cup of coffee, trying to casually let the smile dim, but another coarse chuckle from Chris brought it back tenfold.

“If you’re a saint, I’m a nun,” he chided. Sebastian snorted, tucking an arm around your shoulders.

“Regardless, the lady has her coffee, thanks to me.” Chris rolled his eyes, resting his arm on top of Sebastian’s.

 

*

 

Following the final read-through, you’d intentionally gotten out of the conference room as fast as you could, hoping to avoid any excess conversation. All hope had been abandoned, though, when you were putting your bag in the back seat. You were just shutting the door when a large hand thumped down on the roof. Another came to rest on the small of your back. A hushed burst of your name split the air. You looked up to find a pair of blazing blue eyes burning into yours.

Sebastian had cornered you in the parking lot, insisting that he needed to talk to you about something. He wouldn’t say what it was, nor what it was about, but that it was important and couldn’t wait until filming began. After a few minutes of back and forth, you agreed to drop by his hotel after meeting Kat for dinner. He gave you a quick hug and sent you on your way, promising to text you the necessary details a little bit later.

The drive through the city was peaceful. With the way the sun was setting, it cast various pinks, oranges, and yellows across the horizon. The clouds were outlined by a light shade of purple. It wasn’t too terribly far to the restaurant, so you decided to take the long route passed the beach. Water lapped at the shore, taking languid strokes further and further up the sand. It didn’t flinch at the collision, but rather rolled back into itself, awaiting the next opportunity. You were less than three turns from the restaurant, though, and as much as you loved watching the ocean, you had to train your eyes back to the pavement in front of you.

Not many other vehicles were in the parking lot, which was odd for a Friday night. Kat’s car was parked in the second row, so obviously, she’d beat you there. You pulled in next to her and headed inside.

Kat was seated at a table in the back. Her steely eyes were focused on her phone, most likely scrolling through her Twitter feed. Nimble fingers tucked a strand of her dark, tousled hair behind her ear. A black t-shirt clung to her voluptuous frame, accenting, as always, her favorite assets. The sound of your footsteps approached drew her eyes up, and she grinned from ear to ear.

“Hey, dollface!” she chirped, setting her phone down. With a mild squeak of protest from the bench, you slid into the other side of the booth, facing her. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks!”

You shook your head, smoothing out the front of your shirt.

“Kat, we spent all of last weekend together. I just talked to you a few hours ago.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she interjected. “We’re best friends.” You snickered, setting your phone on the table.

The waitress came by the table, placing a menu on the table by each of you. She had cropped red hair, tucked behind her ears. Freckles dotted her nose and spread across her cheeks. Her wide green eyes darted from Kat’s face to yours and back. The little silver name tag pinned to her apron said ‘Hannah’. She couldn’t have been any more than maybe seventeen.

“W-What can I, uh, start you ladies off with?” she stammered, stuffing her hands into her pockets. Kat raised an eyebrow teasingly, but asked for a glass of Pepsi. You ordered your preferred beverage, and the small girl scurried off, practically stumbling over her feet. It was hard not to feel sympathetic for her. It’s probably her first day on the job, and waitressing was far from easy. Waitressing was one of those jobs that gave you a first-hand introduction to just how cruel humanity could be. Making less than minimum wage, horrendous patrons with no patience and no manners, big spenders who leave shitty tips, bless that poor girl’s heart. You’d had your fair share of similar experiences, and they were none too pleasant.

You began to scan the menu, still internally fretting for your waitress. Within a few minutes, she was back. Her trembling hands carried two glasses, and she set them down in front of their respective requestees. Two straws were placed in between.

“Are you ladies ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes?” You gave the young lady a soft smile and requested the only thing on the menu that caught your eye. Kat ordered just after. You grabbed her menu, stacked it on top of yours, and handed it to the girl.

“Thank you, Hannah,” you remarked, doing your best to be reassuring. She returned the smile briefly, then took the menus and left to deliver your order to the kitchen. Kat looked like she wanted to say something, but the buzzing of your phone against the glass tabletop interrupted. You snapped it up, seeing a notification for a new text message accompanied by Sebastian’s name.

**Bring me cheesecake.**

You rolled your eyes heavily, but typed back: ‘ **Say please and I’ll consider it.** ’ With a snort, you set your phone back on the table.

“S _ooooo_ , how’s the script?” she asked, her tongue darting to the corner of her mouth. You took a sip of your drink and set your glass back on the table. There was a moment of silence while you pondered what exactly you could and couldn’t reveal. It wouldn’t cause any trouble to tell Kat, would it? Could you get in trouble with Marvel Studios for that? There was a general rule that no actor was allowed to discuss any Marvel project with anyone that wasn’t a part of the film. But Kat, she was still a contracted Marvel actress. She’d be sure to poke and prod you for details anyways, as she always did when you were working on a new film. The two of you had worked together on both Thor films, so there was no need to worry about leaked details for that. But she never was particularly stellar with keeping secrets.

“I really like the script, actually. They made a lot of changes this week, and everything flows much better now.” Kat let out an exasperated sigh, grabbing your hands over the table. A sharp whine of your name slipped out, and she started shaking your arms.

“That literally doesn’t tell me anything! Come on, I want details!” You shook your head adamantly.

“Kat, no. You know I can’t tell you anything.” Her face fell into a look of disappointment, but she persisted.

“Come on, just-”

“No.”

“But-”

“Kat,” you warned. She straightened herself up and looked you dead in the eye. There was no question as to how set on it you were on not giving her details. But Kat would not relent. No matter what you said, what you did, how hard you tried, she would keep pestering you until she got the details she wanted.

“Just tell me one thing, then, okay?” Another flustered sigh and your resolve began to crumble. Your phone buzzed again, surely a response from Sebastian. It would likely be snarky, but polite nonetheless.

“What?” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Are they going to let you kiss Chris?”

 

*

 

**Four Seasons on S. Doheny. 11 th floor, hang a right out of the elevator. Third door on the left. See you in a bit and you better have my cheesecake.**

_Damn it, Sebastian_. Couldn’t he have just given you a room number instead? You were standing in the lobby of his hotel, dressed down in jeans and a tank top. All the women in their pantsuits were giving you nasty looks, turning up their noses. Their husbands, however, were giving you an honest-to-god once over on your way by.

A large three-tiered chandelier hung above a wide, round glass table. Upon the table sat an impressively sized pot, its tempered glass matching that of the table. Lilies sprung from every small bundle of green leaves, which were darker in hue than the palm fronds flanking the doorway. Marble tile littered the floor, alternating shades of black and white. The tan walls were somewhat welcoming, but intimidating in the same sense.

At the end of the lengthy entry way sat a solid mahogany desk in a three-quarter circle. Behind it sat a tiny man with wire-rimmed glasses. He didn’t bother to look up from his oh so interesting game of solitaire as you stopped in front of him.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a bored tone.

“Yes, sir. Where is the elevator?” you replied, tone curt and clipped. He let out an irritated huff and jabbed his bony finger to your left.

“Turn down that hall. Door is on the left. Watch your step.” There was no fluctuation in his voice. It was flat and aimed directly at the screen. You didn’t bother to thank the little punk ass kid before turning towards the hall.

The downward facing arrow was already lit, presumably by the man in the business suit beside you. He bore a striking resemblance to a mass amalgamation of everything humanity fears. A wiry ring of hair circled the back side of his head, spread out like a halo of spider legs. His nose was long and pointed, tip seemingly twitching like a rat. Beady, bottomless eyes stayed trained vacantly on the doors, making him look more like a snake on the hunt than a man.

As soon as the doors opened, he slithered in just like you would’ve expected. You stepped in as well, and he was kind enough to ask what floor you were headed to.

“Eleven, please.” The tip of his stubby finger nudged the button with ‘11’ on it and nothing else. This whole scenario felt like the start of a horror movie, and you made sure to keep a respectable distance between the two of you. His dark eyes darted back and forth between you and the door, further unsettling you.

“Pardon me, miss, but…” he hesitated briefly, but then said your name, posing it as a question. You nodded, and he broke out in an almost disturbing grin. “I’m a big fan. You’ve been a part of many of my favorite films. I’m Edward, by the way. Edward Small.”

He thrust his pudgy little hand out, waiting for you to shake it. Hesitantly, you complied giving him a gentle shake.

“Very nice to meet you, Edward,” you started. He let out a dry, humorless chuckle. Before you could continue, however, the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival at your floor. Without another word, you exited, taking a right straight away. You counted out three doors on the left side of the hall and knocked hard. The smell of a little too much cologne flooded your nose. There was no doubt in your mind that the man was still hovering nearby, and you looked over your shoulder.

He was frozen in place just outside the elevator doors, staring at you. All you could do was offer a small wave and knock harder.

The door creaked open. You were met with the sight of Sebastian, clad in only a towel. Drops of water dripped from his shaggy hair down the sides of his neck, connecting with other beads on his chest. He didn’t even have a chance to speak before you ducked in, asking him to close the door.

Once it was secured, Sebastian turned to you with an eyebrow cocked.

“Hello to you, too,” he quipped sarcastically, clutching the cloth around his waist. “What was that all about?” You shook your head and dropped into a vacant chair, scrubbing a hand across your lower jaw.

“That guy was a fucking creep,” you whispered. “Put some clothes on so we can talk.” The furrowed brow matched it’s mate, crawling high upon his forehead. He swiped the back of his hand through the droplets pooling below his hairline and moved towards the bathroom. He disappeared inside and shut the door.

Your phone buzzed from its place in your pocket, and you slipped it out. Kat’s name was on the screen with a notification for an unread text message.

**You wanna do a movie night tonight? I’m bored.**

Straight away, you responded with a resounding ‘yes’, but told her you had just gotten to Sebastian’s hotel and it could be a while until you’re done.

The bathroom door flew open, and out sauntered Seb in a pair of dark blue sweatpants. His fingers fumbled with the strings, trying to tie them in a tight bow. The waistband was slung low on his hips, revealing the deep V cut of his lower abdomen. Once the drawstring was secured, he flicked the light switch off.

In an effort to stretch, he spread his arms as wide as he possibly could, clenching his fists and then spreading his fingers wide.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk about?” Sebastian chuckled, allowing the creases to return in the corners of his eyes. There was a mischievous gleam in those big baby blues of his, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. He folded his hands together, resting his paired index fingers just beneath his chin.

“Nothin’. Just wanted food,” Seb shrugged nonchalantly.

“You just used me for cheesecake, didn’t you?” His entire face lit up for a second, making that grin of his widen.

“Oh, you did bring me cheesecake? Hand it over!” With an eye roll, you fished a small box from your bag. You thrust a to-go container into his now-waiting hands. Immediately, he popped the box open and stuck his other hand out, making a grabbing motion. “Did you bring me a fork or do I have to eat it with my hands?”

You shoved your hand back into the bag, digging out the small package of plastic ware bagged with the box. He snatched it from your fingers and ripped it open, electing to throw the knife and spoon to the side in favor of the fork itself. The styrofoam box groaned as he jammed the prongs through his cheesecake. A mountain of it was unceremoniously shoveled into his mouth, and he let out a downright _whorish_ moan of appreciation.

“Oh _god_. You’re a saint. A fucking saint, you know that?” Sebastian’s voice was garbled by the half-masticated mass in his mouth. His eyes were scrunched shut, savoring every second before swallowing.

“Yeah, yeah. Down to business, though. I have plans tonight. Did you really want to talk, or were you just after the sweets?” He shook his head, swallowing hard.

“Nah, I actually did wanna talk about something,” he began, stuffing another pile of cheesecake in his mouth. A silence settled in between Sebastian’s approving gasps and grunts. There was no way you were going to get another useful word out of him until he finished eating, so you settled back in the chair with your phone, scrolling through your personal Facebook account.

It didn’t take any more than five minutes for you to hear that familiar displeased whine from the hinge of the box and a similar disgruntled sound from Sebastian.

“So, are we going to talk now?”

“Well…”

“Seb, come on! I’ve got plans with Kat tonight.”

“Okay, okay! Jesus, calm down!” he grumbled. Sebastian tucked his long legs up beneath him, crossing them with ease. “I just wanted to ask you why you’re still avoiding lunch with Chris. You got somethin’ against him?”


	3. C- Charisma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank god for Marilyn.  
> Feedback appreciated!  
> <3

**charisma** – _noun_

\- a special charm or appeal that causes people to feel attracted and excited by someone

 

* * *

 

 

 

Atlanta was fucking _hot_. With an average high around eighty degrees, it only got hotter from there as the sun took its place over everything. Shooting in direct sunlight in a full-body suit make of spandex and mesh was never really on your to-do list in life, and yet, there you were. It wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, but it didn’t make it much easier.

Didn’t really help that you were woken up an hour before your call time, either. Twenty minutes before the alarm on your phone was scheduled to wake you, it began to ring obscenely loud. Surely the neighboring rooms would be calling the front desk about the noise later. After the third ring, you rolled over with a pained groan and grabbed your phone. Chris had apparently assumed that you both had the same call time and just wanted to see if you wanted him to pick you up some coffee on his way to the set. Given that it was your first day back to being up before the sun, you’d accepted his offer, promising that the next morning would be your turn to pick up and you’d pay him back when you got on set. He wouldn’t hear it, though. Chris just kept insisting that it was his treat and he didn’t mind.

When you arrived, you high-tailed it to your designated make-up trailer. Inside sat your artist, the hair stylist, Jeremy Renner (with whom you shared the trailer), and a fresh cup of coffee from a local shop. A bright yellow sticky note was plastered against the side of the cup, but with the rush to get you ready, you didn’t get a chance to read it right away.

Never had you actually been formally introduced to Jeremy, so you took it upon yourself to tell him your name and shake his hand. Sure, you knew who he was. You were actually a big fan of a lot of his prior work, particularly The Hurt Locker. He was exactly like you’d heard from others, lively and very comedic, even so early in the morning. His sandy blonde hair was sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, like he hadn’t bothered to comb it before coming in. You couldn’t really blame him, since you’d actually somewhat struggled with having the ambition to do so yourself. The rims of his steely eyes were a pallid purple, like he hadn’t slept well recently. Endless flights across the country tend to wear on people, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

“I see you’ve got Evans wrapped around your finger,” he chuckled in a raspy tone. The wheezing gravel in his laugh was reassuringly playful with the way it would stop and start like a skipping record at times. You shook your head with a smirk and removed the sticky note. The strip of adhesive was pressed against your jeans, and you rubbed it as to make it stay. Your coffee was still piping hot, so it mustn’t have been sitting there for too terribly long. Hesitantly, you took a sip.

Jeremy eyed you carefully, you could feel it. Like his eyes were burning holes into the side of your skull and it made you slightly uncomfortable. You peeled the little piece of paper off your pants to read it, assuming that’s what he was waiting for.

_Morning sunshine!_

_I feel really bad about calling you so early, so I grabbed some breakfast for you too (hopefully Renner hasn’t eaten it already)_

_See you in a few hours!_

_\- Chris_

A wide grin spread itself across your lips. Certainly was a sweet of Chris to go out of his way for almost a complete stranger, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. You turned to Jeremy, raising an eyebrow. He put his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t eat it,” he snorted, pointing to a shelf behind you. When you looked back, you noticed a box. The box was pale blue with a navy ribbon tied around it. On the top sat a bow. Each loop of the bow was flawlessly crafted around the knot in the center. Your artist, Katie, gave you the okay to grab the box.

“Better eat before I get started. I don’t want to have to fix any smudges after,” she chided, shooing you. Grabbing the box, you returned to your seat just in time to see Jeremy’s tongue flicker across his lower lip. The smell emanating from the box was mouthwatering, and you already knew what was inside. The big lug had been kind enough to bring you a fresh cinnamon roll, still hot like it’d just come out of the oven.

Easily enough, the bow seemed to fall apart with a slight tug on one of its ends. Not before you took a quick picture of the cute little box, though. Before digging in, you grabbed your phone and opened Instagram, posting the photo of the box with the caption _“A certain someone brought me a little present this morning! Thanks, Mr. Evans! You’re the best!”_

You tucked your phone away after the upload finished and opened the box. The fresh pastry scent got stronger tenfold when you lifted the top flap.

“Christ,” you muttered, peeking inside. “This thing is bigger than my hand.”

The first bite drew a positively filthy sound from the back of your throat. Nothing else compared to the taste of the fresh cream cheese icing. You offered a portion to Jeremy, who took it eagerly. As soon as it passed his lips, he let out a similar ecstatic sound.

“I’m gonna have to find out where he got this,” Jeremy mumbled, mouth full. “This is fucking amazing.” Stuffing another chunk in your mouth, all you could do was nod in agreement. A mutual silence cemented itself between the two of you, appreciating arguably the best thing either of you had ever had the pleasure of eating.

By the time the box was empty, your stomach was absolutely content. You rested your hand against it for a second before disposing of the box. There was no tag on it, no label to tell where in the world it came from.

“Directly from fucking Heaven,” Jeremy announced, like that was the clear answer. “Nothing on this planet is capable of creating something that good.” Katie snorted and licked the tip of her thumb. With a quick swipe, she wiped a lost glob of icing from just below his lip. His face scrunched up, etching deep creases across the bridge of his nose. The furrow of his brows brought forth a pair of vertical lines, which seemingly aged him in an instant.

“Was that really necessary?” he grumbled, pawing at the slightly damp spot with the back of his hand.

“If you didn’t eat like such a pig, I wouldn’t-”

“Hey! _Mean_!” he interjected. Katie just rolled her eyes and tossed a paper towel in his lap.

“Clean the rest up yourself, then.” Jeremy muttered a few less-than-sensible things under his breath while Katie got started on applying primer to your face. With the newfound air of playfulness in the room, the morning went along with much more ease. One thought, though, kept echoing in the back of your mind: _I definitely have to find a big way to thank Chris…_

 

*

 

For the next week, a cinnamon roll was next beside your chair in the trailer every morning. Never was the box ever the same color two days in a row, but each came with a _‘- Mr. E’_ scrawled on the top, just beside the bow. In addition to breakfast, a styrofoam cup of coffee would also appear on the table beside your chair. Chris would never accept anything form of repayment, be it literally paying him back or buying him coffee the next morning. What a stubborn man he was…

You tugged up the zipper of your freshly-pressed S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, waiting for someone from wardrobe to return with your boots. Every inch of fabric clung to your frame like a child to their mother. Heavy grey offset with stripes of black, the long sleeves were breathable, but still impractical for such high heat. The sun would be at its highest point in the sky during the filming of this particular scene, and temperature had maxed itself at 92 degrees already.

Both eagle emblems stitched at your shoulders were holding fast, unwavering even after the wear of fight scenes and excessive movement. The other patches, specifying your character’s ranking, held just as well.

With a soft knock, a young woman from wardrobe entered the trailer, toting a pair of black combat boots. Silver buckles glared back at you from the sunlight streaming through the cracked door. She set them beside your feet and then kneeled down. For a moment, she paused, letting you slip into them before beginning to adjust the zippers and pulls to ensure a solid fit for the remainder of the day. Nimbly, her fingers flew over the laces, tightening them in some areas and loosening them in others. As soon as they were fitted precisely as she wanted them, she asked you to stand up and take a few steps, just for a quality check. You did so without question, and the leggy blonde looked pleased with her result.

“Thanks, Lauren. They look great,” you commended, admiring the cautious stitching around the outer edge. She smiled, but said nothing else, and just as her entrance, her exit was brief and quiet. You took a second to do a few quick jumps and stretch out your shoulders before headed out the door as well, making your way towards the set. It was setting up to be a long day, but really, you couldn’t complain. You were getting paid to do a job that you loved, a job you would’ve done for free (but don’t tell the production team that).

You strolled onto the lot, looking for a familiar face. The sea of extras didn’t part easily, forcing you to continually say ‘excuse me’, place a hand on people’s backs to let them know you’re behind them, dodge and duck around flailing arms and sudden backsteps. But finally, once you reached the edge of the masses, you saw a recognizable mop of dark hair peaking over a whited-out blockade. That made you pick up your pace a bit. As you got closer, you noticed that it was not merely one person, but an entire gaggle. A large cluster of your co-stars were bundled into smaller groups, all immersed in various conversations. The first that you approached happened to be Anthony and Frank, who were talking about all the embarrassing things they’d seen happen to others on set.

“And then he went to throw a punch, but he clipped his helmet with his fist. The buckle went flying, man, nailed his stunt double right in the eye. Oh my god, it was great! I’ve never heard that sound come out of a grown man in my life.” Frank was doubled over, spitting out bites of his story between snorts and hoots. Mackie was hunched at the shoulders, clutching one of Frank’s for support. The mesh of his black undershirt slid forward in Anthony’s grip, pulling the back end out of its neat tuck in his cargo pants.

“You remember last time when he tripped over his own foot?” Anthony wheezed, rubbing his presumably sore abdomen. “’Cause ain’t nobody gonna tell Captain America to tie his damn shoe!”

You clapped a hand down on Anthony’s shoulder, giving him a playful smile.

“Take it easy on him, guys. We can’t all be as graceful as you two,” you reprimanded playfully.

“Oh, they’re far from graceful,” Chris chimed in from over your shoulder. He slung an arm around you, leaning into you a little. With a finger directed at Mackie, he continued. “Mr. Mackie over here? Yeah, he dropped his Falcon rig during a fight scene. Whole thing, smashed to pieces. So _very_ graceful, right Mack?” Anthony rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with a toothy grin.

“And, uh, Grillo? I seem to remember a certain event while filming that elevator scene that proved to be less than elegant. Y’know, when you tripped over Ricardo and face-planted right into my dick?” Frank leaned forward quickly, trying to cover Chris’ mouth. He’d failed to do so before Chris finished his sentence, which likely led Frank to blush, though with all the special effects make-up he had on it was hard to know for sure.

“Watch your mouth in front of the ladies, Evans,” Frank admonished, waving a disapproving finger. Chris chuckled and swatted his hand out of the air, playfully shoving his chest.

“You started it, man! If you guys are gonna embarrass me, I can take it. But just know I’m gonna dish it right back out!” As the laughter subsided, a comforting silence fell amongst the group. Chris held his arm around you still, resting his free hand against his hip. The black tactical boots he was wearing shifted aimlessly in the dirt, making him draw you somewhat closer. Whether it was based in a level of comfort or instinct, you weren’t sure, but you leaned your head into his chest. The raised fabric emanating from the star in the center grazed your ear. It didn’t seem to raise any flags, being so close.

“Guys, they’re ready for us,” Scarlett suddenly announced, not looking up from her phone. Chris gave your shoulder a quick squeeze before stepping back and turning towards her. He started to say something, but Jeremy, from seemingly nowhere, sidled up next to you to say something of his own.

“ _Wrapped_. _Around_. Your _finger_ ,” he murmured just low enough that no one else could hear. Every day, Jeremy would reiterate that Chris seemed like he was into you. And every day, in response, you’d insist that the two of you barely knew each other, and Chris’ natural gentility towards others was being misconstrued as interest.

“He’s just being friendly, Renner.” Jeremy cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Maybe he just doesn’t like _you_ very much.” His entire face went sour at that comment, but you softened the blow with a cheeky grin and swatted his stomach with the back of your hand.

“Let’s get a move on, then! C’mon!” Anthony hollered over the chatter. He was doing his damnedest to wrangle the rest of the cast, to herd them in the right direction. When the speed of movement didn’t quite meet his approval, he groaned. “Man, you guys can just stay here! This is now a Falcon stand-alone, and none of y’all are invited!”

 

*

 

The task of peeling yourself out of that cat-suit was daunting at best. It was form-fitting to begin with, but adding a 10 hour filming day (complete with sweat, dirt, smears of make-up, and potentially a few other things) turned the removal into an Olympic triathlon. It always required two extra sets of hands from the wardrobe department. One would assume responsibility of the lower half, prying the boots from your feet and began to work on removing the second skin from your legs. The other would take on the top, unzipping the torso area and trying to - with care and caution – free your arms.

Finally, you were liberated. There was nothing left to restrict you, bind you. You pressed your arms back, stretching out your shoulders, and rolled your head around, trying to work out the knots and kinks. After a few solid pops, you grabbed your phone off the table and turned it back on. While it booted up, you also grabbed your t-shirt off the back of the chair beside you and tugged it on. The familiar welcome tune sounded from the small speaker on the back of your phone, and the screen went dark. It wasn’t for long, though. Not long at all.

Halfway through pulling your sweatpants on, a steady stream of text messages came through, all of which were too quick for you to even see who they were from. For a solid thirty seconds, your phone kept beeping and buzzing to signal a new message. By the time it was all said and done, you had upwards of fifteen unread texts, five emails, two voicemails, and, as minimal as it seemed, a missed calendar notification.

You slipped into your sneakers and tied them tight before grabbing your phone again, preparing for the barrage of messages. To your relief, more than half of the texts were from Kat.

**Hey, did you take my blue dress with you to Atlanta?**

**You did, didn’t you?**

**Answer me, you little shit. : P**

**Oh, I see how it is.**

**I swear to god, I’m going to your apartment and digging through your closet.**

**Nevermind. I found it.**

**So, how’s filming? : )**

You rolled your eyes and checked the timestamps on all her texts. They’d been sent maybe an hour or so earlier, so you assumed one (if not both) of the voicemails was from her. A reply of: **Glad you found your dress, asshole. Filming is going great! I’ll call tomorrow. Love you!** was sent off.

Out of the other texts, two were from your manager, one was from your mother, and three were from Sebastian.

**Call me when you get a chance.**

**Nothing bad, don’t worry. Just wanna talk to you about something.**

**Wow, that made it sound even worse, didn’t it? It’s work-related, so just call me, okay?**

_Okay_ , you thought. _Don’t forget to call Seb when you get back to the hotel_. The last text, though, the most recent one, was from Chris. The appearance of his name on the screen was enough to set your nerve endings ablaze. It made you jittery, nervous, and it was fucking confusing. Were you letting Jeremy get to you? Was his daily dose of irritation starting to wear on you? Did you really start to believe that Chris was into you? That he might be interested?

Two little words on a screen, and it threw you for a loop. The buzzing in your mind just got louder and louder, questioning everything.

**From: Chris Evans**

**Dinner tomorrow?**

You shook your head, hoping that for just once, your cluttered mind could be like an Etch-a-Sketch. If you shake it enough, it’ll clear everything out. The effort was there, hand-in-hand with the best of intentions, but it was all in vain. There was no way you were getting that man out of your head.

Chris was the human embodiment of a trip to the beach. Looking at him was the equivalent of lying out on a towel, complete with a sunny smile, sandy hair, and eyes bluer than the ocean itself.

Oh _god_ , those eyes. You could stare into them for days on end, never blinking, never looking away. They were bottomless, ceaseless. It felt like they went on for days and days, maybe even years. Different shades of blue that all blended seamlessly together, pulling in towards the center to turn a pale hue of green instead, there was no denying that his eyes were easily the single most beautiful thing you’d ever had the honor of seeing.

The feelings welling and stirring inside your abdomen at the mere thought of him should’ve been the first sign. They crashed like waves on the rocks with never-ending crests, capped in pure white. No matter the condition of the surface, there was always much more beneath. The flutter of your heart against your rib cage was like a school of angelfish making their way to a new home. It was vast, inimitable, and impossible to process.

He was the current, dragging you under without really even noticing. Chris Evans _was_ an ocean, and you? You were gladly drowning.


	4. D - Discernible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback appreciated.  
> <3

**discernible** \- _adjective_

\- perceptible, as by vision or the intellect

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“So, are we gonna talk about this or what?” Sebastian quipped, folding his hands over the table. A week on the set and he was already poking and prodding and prying into virtually every single cavern and crevasse of your life since filming began, particularly where Chris was concerned. If anyone in this world wanted the two of you to be more than friends, it was Sebastian. He was constantly on you with questions, and your response was always the same.

“It’s none of your business, Seb,” you sighed, exasperated. “Seriously, please stop asking.” He just shook his head and steepled his fingers, looking at you over the tips. The center of his lip latched between his teeth and the outer corners curled into a playful leer. You snorted humorlessly, shifting your gaze into your cup. The water inside it didn’t stir in the slightest, no matter how your trained your stare. Sebastian’s question still lingered in the air, but he didn’t press the matter any further. He knew you already had enough on your mind.

Today was the day that had you torn between excitement and dread for months. There was a scene being filmed that involved you kissing Chris, and the butterflies in your stomach were positively rampant, swimming over and under the gnarls in your stomach, trying to fight their way out of your body. Your fingertips fumbled with the zipper on the front of your uniform. Toying with the pull was potentially the only way possibly for you to somewhat ease the tension felt in every single muscle in your body.

“Of course it’s my business!” he chirped, taking a lengthy draw from his coffee. “You guys are two of my best friends, and I wanna know. C’mon! Don’t be all secretive!”

“I swear to God, Seb, you’re a god damn child,” you scolded. He scoffed.

“Damn right. A nosy one, too. Listen, why don’t we go out for drinks tonight and talk about it? I’ll buy.”

Before you could give him an answer, a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders. Thumbs pressed into your stressed shoulders, working out the knots. They worked their way inward towards your neck, then moved down between your shoulder blades. The pressure alternated based on tissue depth, working flawlessly for your own personal relief. Lower and lower down your back those magnificent hands worked, going as far down as the chair would allow. The apprehension in the hands signaled their work coming to a close, so you folded your arms together on top of the table and laid your head down. Your back parted from the chair, giving whoever more of your back to work with. All traces of hesitancy dissipated instantly, and the disentanglement continued. It wasn’t until they reached the lumbar section of your spine, though, that you let out a positively obscene noise worthy of a fucking _pornographic_ soundtrack.

“Please don’t stop,” you muttered against your arm. “That feels way too good.” Behind you, there was a solid chuckle that you’d recognize anywhere.

“You’re not supposed to make those sounds until later,” Chris grumbled, propping his chin up on your shoulder. His bulky chest pressed to your back while his fingers still worked against your spine. You arched your back away from his touch when his thumbs dug into a particularly nasty knot. With a snort, he twisted his head to bury his forehead into the curve of your neck. The ensuing exhale of silent laughter forced a gale of hot air over the nape of your neck, sending a sharply contrasting chill straight to your core.

Sebastian must have noticed the look of bliss on your face. He gave your shin a sharp kick beneath the table, clearing his throat. You yelped at the contact and jerked back, effectively jarring Chris out of his position. The weight of his head vacated it’s position, leaving you longing for the contact to return.

“Christ, Seb,” you grunted. “Watch where you’re aiming those fucking skis.”

“You two need to calm down over there,” Sebastian offered, taking another long sip of his drink. One of your eyebrows arched itself when you shot him a cynical stare. As had become the norm, Chris just laughed, settling into the chair beside you. One of his large palms lingered at the small of your back, fingers still lightly rubbing against the base of your spine. Seb’s eyes darted over to Chris, then back to you. His tongue flicked over his lower lip as his eyebrows both shot halfway up his forehead. As quickly as it had come, the suggestive look was gone, and you took a large gulp of your water.

Sebastian, the hulking pain in the ass, bumped your already throbbing shin with the toe of his shoe again. Your brows knit together tightly, and your gaze narrowed. He didn’t bother to say anything, but kept casting lewd expressions towards both you and Chris respectively.

After a few minutes of silence and many god awful faces, Chris’ hand slipped itself away from you. Just the very tips of his fingers grazed the flesh just above your elbow. You had to suppress an intense shudder worming its way into your system. _Touch me again. Please. I don’t care how, just do it._

“Well, I guess I’d better get going,” he grinned. “Got a big scene with a pretty lady today, so I need to go eat all the garlic and onions catering can give me.” You let out a playful, semi-disgusted snort and pushed his shoulder.

“You’re horrible, Chris, I swear,” you declared. That drew an incredibly lively laugh from Chris as he placed his hand gently on your forearm. _Thank you, thank you, thank you._ His fingertips brushed a line across your flesh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. For a moment, your eyes locked with his. Chris looked like he wanted to start leaning in, like he wanted more contact as badly as you did. Neither of you blinked, not even in the slightest. Not until Sebastian cleared his throat, making a smartass comment starting with ‘ _I swear to God, if you two start making out…_ ’

Surprisingly, Chris suddenly bid a quick goodbye to both you and Sebastian before heading out the door; presumably back to his trailer to get suited up for the scene. When your eyes wandered back from the doorway, from his retreating frame, you focused on Sebastian. There was a light in them that you hadn’t ever seen before. You could tell the gears in his mind were turning at a blistering pace, and he was up to something. When he got that look on his face, it never implied anything short of trouble. It wasn’t hard to tell what was on his mind.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Seb, stop it,” you warned. He just shook his head and winked before gathering up his things.

“Don’t worry, I’ve thought about it enough,” he retorted, slinging his bag over his shoulder with one of those _shit-eating_ grins that he was notorious for. “Now I just need to get _you_ to think about it more.”

“Not happening,” you snapped. “We work together. Until we fulfill our contracts, nothing is going to happen.” Sebastian shook his head, pausing in the doorway.

“Good thing we’ve only got a month left, huh?”

 

*

 

This was it. Action had been called, everyone was in position. All the extras were arranged with the utmost caution. Various cast members were settled into different nooks of the set. The sun was beating down on you, and you were already nervous enough without the extra sweat building between the spandex and your skin. Caked in dirt and fake blood, you looked like something that had just crawled out of its own grave. There were various rips and tears in the limbs of your catsuit, with blood-filled pockets of liquid latex underneath. Your hair was tied in an incredibly sloppy bun with strands falling down across your forehead and around your ears.

Chris was running towards you, decked out in his full Captain America garb. The dark blue cargo-style pants clung to his every muscle, moving as fluidly as the rest of him. His boots had to be strapped and re-strapped in order to keep them in place while he was in motion. The white star on his chest was a bit dingy, streaked with sand. Pads on his shoulders made them look exponentially broader, matching the light pectoral padding. For some reason, he looked bigger today. He looked taller, more muscular. But he didn’t look quite like himself in any aspect. Maybe it was the make-up for the camera. Maybe it was the helmet, or the fact that, without it, his hair looked like a molting baby duckling. But whatever the reason, the fact that Chris didn’t _look_ like Chris somehow calmed you.

The calming only lasted so long, though. As he got closer, he fumbled with the chin strap of his helmet. The snap on the outside vehemently refused to release its counterpart, and Joe finally just called ‘cut’.

“Let’s try that again, Chris,” he called out. “But leave the helmet on this time. If we don’t like it, we can always try it the other way again.” Chris nodded, tilting his head a little. He shot an almost filthy little half-smirk towards you, followed by a wink.

“Got it! Let’s go!” he shouted, rolling his shoulders back. With a literally skip in his first few steps, he made his way back to his starting point, adjusted his stance, and took a deep breath. All traces of emotion vacated his face. Another deep breath and you were reminded to actually center yourself. You spaced your feet evenly, making sure to point your toes straight forward. Joe called ‘action’ again, and sat back in his chair.

Chris made his running start again. The way he moved seemed almost graceful, like a dancer. There was very little movement in his hips, his back was perfectly straight, and if you didn’t look down, you’d swear he was floating. It was all smooth, fluid. The wide berth between the two of you closed at an alarming rate, and you suddenly weren’t sure if you were ready for this. With one final stride, he came to a halt right in front of you, stirring up a cloud of dust at his feet.

“Agent,” he stated coolly. You nodded towards him, holstering one of the prop guns.

“Captain,” you replied evenly. “Is this finally over?” He shook his head a little, looking down.

“Rumlow’s still out there. I’m not going anywhere until I find him.” You reached forward, placing a delicate hand on his lower jaw. The leather strap felt a bit rough against your palm. Stitching pressed into your skin, creating an eerie pattern of indentations. His eyes were focused intently on yours. Those baby blues drew a blank in your mind, and it was only when Chris blinked hard that you remembered your line. _Hope they like the dramatic pause…_

“You do what you have to do, Steve. But promise me that you’ll come home when it’s done.” Chris chuckled, leaning forward to kiss your forehead.

“I promise,” he whispered. He drew back long enough to look you in the eye again before slinging both of his arms around your waist and twisting. The only thing holding you up was Chris’ strong arms and the heels of your boots on the ground. With furrowed brows, he rushed in, crushing your lips with his. Your entire body seized for a moment. _Is this really happening? Please, God, don’t tell me this is a dream._ Honestly, you couldn’t recall ever being overcome with this much anticipation.

His lips tasted like coffee and peppermint with just a hint of chocolate beneath it. This was nothing more than a kiss for the cameras, but _Jesus Christ_ did it feel good. It was everything you’d hoped for, but also everything you feared. The feeling of his arms around you, his lips on yours, it was beautifully akin to torture in the best way. But like _actual_ torture, it could only last so long before someone broke. Your tongue, despite the fact that you swore on everything you had to refrain, tapped hesitantly at his lower lip. His mouth curved into a tempting grin, but he pulled away slowly. Your eyes were barely cracked open when he swung you back up into a standing position. His arms retracted until his hands were gripping your hips sturdily.

“Go get ‘em, Rogers,” you panted, tacking on another quick, unscripted peck. The smile playing on his lips grew wider, and he spun on his heel, starting back in the direction he’d come from.

“Alright, cut!” Joe called, exchanging a high-five with his brother, Anthony. “That was awesome, guys! Perfect on the first try!”

“Nailed it!” Chris hollered. He punched into the air with his fist and drew his elbow back, his sign for victory.

“Take ten, guys. We’ll regroup and move on to the next shot,” Anthony beamed. You swiped the back of your hand across your forehead, gathering the sweat that had been building up. And, just as expected, Sebastian was standing behind you in a heartbeat with a smug grin on his face.

“You slip him some tongue?” he joked. But all joking went out the window when you elbowed him in the ribs. He noticed the flush around your neck, and his mouth shifted into a wide ‘o’ of surprise. “You fucking did, didn’t you? Frisky little one today, huh?” You just rolled your eyes and headed towards Scarlett, leaving Sebastian slightly stunned behind you.

On your approach, Scarlett whirled around, flicking her dark auburn wig over her shoulder. She was just shrugging back on the tan trenchcoat, tying off the belt around her waist.

“Well, that was cute,” she muttered suggestively. “When are you gonna let him take you on a date?” You sighed heavily, taking a swig of water from your bottle.

“Not you, too,” you grumbled. She just gave you that trademark smirk, stretching out her arms.

“I’m tellin’ you… Wrapped around your finger,” Jeremy chirped, popping up from seemingly nowhere. With a start, you reached back and swatted his stomach.

“God damn it, Renner! You scared the shit out of me.”

“He’s right, you know,” Lizzie pitched in from behind Scarlett. “Chris definitely has a thing for you.”

If everyone were going to continue being so persistent, maybe it was high time for you to actually consider it…

 

*

 

Your final days of filming were bittersweet at best. While you were glad for the end of your long days and somewhat exhausting working conditions, what with the temperature and costuming, you were also going to miss all the wonderful people you’d had the opportunity to work with. Sure, you’d be able to see Downey and Renner a lot, and Lizzie, too. Anthony promised he’d call you whenever he was in town, Sebastian always swore to visit frequently (and he never was one to disappoint), and you’d already promised to FaceTime with Scarlett as often as possible. You’d become close friends with Mark and Paul, scheduling some time to between films to go out for drinks every couple weeks. Frank, as you discovered, only lived a few blocks away from you, and Daniel offered you a place to stay if you ever returned to Germany.

It was down to your final layover on the flight home, and you were stuck at the Dallas/Fort Worth Airport. Your plane was grounded for mechanical issues, namely engine trouble. Most of the other actors had left before you, so you said your goodbyes as they departed. There was one cast member, however, that happened to be leaving on the same day, same flight, at the same time. The two of you also shared the same destination and layovers, since it wasn’t up to you to book your return ticket. Apparently, Marvel Studios had designated people for that sort of thing…

The airport had a sharp chill, despite being in Texas in September. Perhaps it was the air conditioning, maybe the fact that the sun was settling, possibly just you being a wimp, or any combination of the three. There were hoards of people running back and forth from terminal to terminal with no regards to the others around them. It was just a giant mess of limbs and bags from one end to the other, and frankly, it was exhausting to even watch.

You were settled into the middle of a sea of dark green seats just outside your terminal. The book in your lap wasn’t doing much to keep your mind occupied, nor the music pumping through your ear buds. There was only one thing that you were actually thinking about, and it happened to be the man just about to sit down beside you.

Chris thrust out his hand, clutching a cup from Starbucks. You bent down the corner of the page you were reading to hold your place, then closed the book. One of your ear buds tumbled gracelessly from its place in your ear, thumping against the back of your book. You looked up at him and took your drink with a smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly, taking a quick sip. As soon as it hit your tongue, the smile grew. “You remembered?”

He nodded, plopping down beside you.

“How could I forget?” he chuckled. “I bought it almost every morning for three months.” You cocked an eyebrow, swallowing another mouthful.

“Only three months?” you snorted. “Chris, I had a cup of coffee in the trailer every morning during filming. You know, all _four_ months?” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow as he began to swirl his own paper cup in his hand. He looked a bit confused, maybe slightly concerned as well, but then it shifted into a playful grin.

“Someone else must’ve started buying you coffee, then,” he mused. “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer…” He nudged you with his elbow, jarring the coffee in your hand. The liquid splashed against the sides of your cup, but did not escape. Heat radiated from the thick paper and threatened to scald your palms right through it.

“How’d you get my order anyways?” He exhaled a laugh hard through his nose. “How and _why_ , actually.” His eyes moved to look out the row of windows in front of the two of you as he pursed his lips together for a second.

“Well, I actually had to bribe Sebastian for it. Not gonna lie, at first I really just wanted to make a good impression. But then Renner told me how happy you were to get your coffee every morning, so I just kept it up and…” The sudden end to his sentence made your heart leap into your throat. You wanted to press him, to make him finish, but something told you not to. If he wanted you to know everything, he would tell you. And just as you suspected, without being prompted, he did tell you.

“And I kinda wanted to, y’know, uh… Kinda wanted to impress you. But for a week or so, I’d go in to drop of your drink and there’d already be a fresh cup sitting there for you. Figured Katie was bringing it for you after that, so I stopped.”

You weren’t expecting the feeling that nestled itself into the pit of your stomach at that point. If you were completely honest, you really just had an intense urge to kiss him right now.

His eyes migrated to the cup in his hands, then back to your face, eagerly awaiting a response.

“Chris, that’s… That’s so sweet. Thank you,” you sighed with a soft smile. You brought one hand up to lie on his wrist, which was sitting on the arm rest separating the two of you. Suddenly, the few thoughts not about Chris vacated your mind, and you couldn’t stop yourself. It seemed so slow but so fast at the same time. Your lips pressed delicately to his cheek and slid your hand down to rest on top of his. He cracked a flawless grin, letting his free hand touch the spot your lips had landed. When he pulled his hand away, that smile grew tenfold and he just sort of looked at his fingers for a moment.

“And to think, you weren’t even getting paid to kiss me this time,” he chuckled. Before you could make a witty retort, a friendly female voice came across the intercom.

“ _Flight 5720 to Los Angeles will begin boarding momentarily. Will all passengers please make their way to the designated gate_?” Chris tangled his fingers between yours and gave your hand a firm squeeze.

“No more excuses, okay? As soon as this plane touches down in L.A., I’m taking you to dinner.”


	5. E - Eloquent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this has taken so long, loves! Hopefully I'll be able to update more once SLCC is done!

**eloquent** \- _adjective_

\- having or exercising the power of fluent, forceful, and appropriate speech

* * *

 

 

Why could things never work out they way they were planned?

No sooner than your flight landed back in L.A., Chris’ phone was ringing off the hook. Calls poured in from friends and family alike, inquiring as to how his flight went, if he was home safely, whether or not he wanted to meet up with this person and that for dinner or drinks. After probably his fifth or sixth phone call, he gave you a sympathetic look and grabbed your hand in his. Profuse apologies ensued, citing something to do with his brother as the reason for unfortunately having to take a rain check on dinner.

“I swear I’ll make this up to you,” he’d said. “I don’t care what I have to cancel or who I have to reschedule, I _will_ find time.”

Unfortunately, that didn’t quite happen. Anything and everything kept getting in the way, and it was far beyond frustrating. He would call you and make plans just to turn around and cancel mere hours before. Talk shows here and there, another film in the works, forgotten family engagements, it never seemed to end. Initially, you wondered if it was all intentional. Maybe he didn’t really even _want_ to see you. But after the first two months of the dates never quite panning out, his apologies began to arrive with flowers, candies, and a card. The card itself was no bigger than your average business card. On one side was printed the name of whichever company was delivering the flowers, but the other always contained a message. It was always signed _‘- CE’_ , and it would arrive with everything else within twelve hours of the broken date.

Six months flew by with weekly deliveries. After the third month, it wasn’t even sending things for cancelled dinners anymore. Chris just started to send you those gifts because he _could_. It continued exactly like that until the week before the press tour started. That week, two full bouquets arrived. One was a dozen assorted roses in a simple glass vase. The other was much more drastic: an impressively oversized vase filled to its limit with fuchsia carnations, orange lilies, red Peruvian lilies, and button poms. Whoever delivered them left them outside the door to your apartment. It looked more like someone from the floral shop was trying to take you out instead of Chris. One card was signed _‘- CE’_ , the other was unsigned.

“Christopher…” you muttered to no one in particular. With a slight head shake, you crouched down and slid your phone out of your pocket. As soon as the camera opened, you look a picture of both vases and sent it to Jeremy, adding ‘ **maybe you were right** ’ to the text. Once it showed sent, you opened your Instagram app, posting it there with the caption ‘ _Came home to a beautiful surprise today. Thank you so much! You know who you are <3’. _Avoiding names and/or initials made things much less conspicuous. Now people could speculate, but they’d have absolutely no proof whatsoever. The last thing either of you wanted was for people to intrude on your personal lives, especially after the disaster with Andy.

Your phone buzzed in your hand as you were unlocking the door. It was a reply from Jeremy with only three words: ‘ **told you so** ’. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and stuff your phone back into your pocket. The lock turned over easily and the door swung open. You gathered the bigger vase in your hands to take in first.

After you unloaded your arms, you went back for the second vase. When you lifted it, a little bit of water sloshed onto the spotless tile, leaving behind a tiny puddle. Just to the side of the drop sat an envelope. It was small, square, and slightly off-white. Your name had been delicately scrawled across the front, and you had begun to wonder how you didn’t see it the first time. So with your free hand, you scooped it up and went back inside, nudging the door shut with the toe of your shoe. The latch clicked quietly, and you set the vase on the glass top of your coffee table.

The flap of the envelope tore with ease. There was virtually no struggle with removing the small card either. It was thick and sturdy, made of stock paper. The handwriting on it definitely did _not_ belong to Chris, who was back in Boston for a few weeks, so it had to have been written by someone at the floral shop. It had some strange loops and curls in a few letters that made it slightly more difficult to read, but you _did_ read it nonetheless.

‘ _See you soon, beautiful! Miss you…_ ’ No signature, but you already knew.

It was impossible not to smile at that. As much as you disliked being the center of attention for any reason, it was actually kind of nice to be at the center of _his_ attention, even if only for the few minutes it would take him to phone in and pay for a delivery. If he could take the time to place a call for that, you could definitely take the time to call _him_ to say thank you. You fished your phone back out of your pocket and scrolled through your contact until you happened upon his name. A few taps began the process, and you listened patiently to the other end of the line ringing.

“Hey you!” Chris chirped, picking up after three rings. “I was just getting ready to text you.” You grinned, feeling a now common blush settle on your cheeks.

“Were you? Well, great minds, I suppose.” He chuckled, and you could just tell he was shaking his head a little. “I just wanted to call and thank you for all the flowers.”

“You’re definitely welcome! I know how much you love roses. But if you really want to thank me, you’ll get on FaceTime with me and let me _see_ that smile. It’s been too long.” Oh. _Oh_. He sure as hell didn’t have to ask you twice.

“Yeah, I think I can manage that.” There was a slight wobble to your voice, and you hoped he didn’t notice it. He didn’t answer, though. Nothing but silence came from his end of the line until you heard a loud beep, signaling that the call had ended. You glanced down at the screen for a second, somewhat confused. Until, that is, your phone lit right back up with a FaceTime notification from Chris. You accepted the video chat request immediately, and his cheery face filled your screen. That wide, bright smile came back without hesitation, and Chris was wearing one to match.

“Much better!” He clapped a hand against his chest.

“Now I can say it to your face,” you laughed. “Thank you so much for the flowers. They’re both absolutely gorgeous, and that little card was cute!” Chris cocked an eyebrow, letting his chin dip slightly. He looked downright lost.

“How many did they send you?”

“Two,” you replied slowly. He shook his head a little, chuckling.

“I think I know what happened… Guess they don’t understand the word ‘hold’.” You narrowed your eyes a little and tilted your head slightly. Chris must’ve noticed your confused expression. “I had a huge order that was supposed to be sent to you next week. Y’know, right before the premiere? Maybe they just missed the part about _next_ week. Oh well! S’pose that means you got my invitation with it, so dress nice!”

Your brows knit together in puzzlement again. Chris just groaned and palmed his face.

“They forgot it, didn’t they? Well, I’m taking you to dinner the night before the L.A. premiere. No more interruptions, no more last minute bullshit. We’re going out. Yes, this is a date. A date if you still wanna go, I mean…”

“Chris, you know I do,” you grinned. “You just give me a place and time, and I’ll be there.” Chris snorted inwardly and shook his head.

“Nope. I’ll be there to pick you up, but I’m not telling you when until the night before. Stop by Camille La Vie in Glendale sometime this week, and they’ll hook you up. Not gonna tell you where we’re going, either. Guess you just have to wait and see, huh?” You opened your mouth to make a rebuttal, but Chris wouldn’t accept that. “I gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” Again, no opportunity to answer him. “See you soon, gorgeous!” Then the screen went blank before returning to your home screen. _Did that little shit just hang up on me?_

Not a second later, a new text came through from Chris.

**And don’t argue about any of it, okay? You deserve a fucking award for being so patient with me, but you’ll have to settle for (hopefully) the best date you’ve ever been on. Cool with that?**

Immediately, you began to type a reply, but after typing ‘ **of** **course** ’, you were kind of at a loss for words. So you popped in a smiley face and just hit send, hoping not to make too big of an ass of yourself.

 

*

 

Chris wasn’t kidding when he said that he’d taken care of everything. When you’d gone in to Camille La Vie, as he’d said, the staff was not only incredibly friendly, but also incredibly helpful. A petite brunette named Jordan had been by your side from the second you walked in the door. She knew everything under the sun about every dress you looked at, from material to designer to how flattering it’d be to your figure before you even tried it on.

Never, at any point, was she wrong. The dresses she’d cautioned you against were the first ones you’d turned down once inside the dressing room. Her top pick, which you’d been skeptical of, ended up being your absolute favorite. Up until you put it on, you found it to be way too simple. It was knee-length and solid black with a lace overlay. But once Jordan zipped the back of it, you were utterly in love. It emphasized every appropriate curve. You weren’t quite sure that you’d ever looked so stunning in anything else.

By the time everything was said and done, you’d found the perfect dress, the perfect shoes, and discovered just how royally stubborn (and full of surprises) Chris really was. Apparently, he’d demanded that anything you decided you wanted was to be put on his card, no ifs, ands, or buts. Yeah, you tried to argue about it and ask Jordan just to put it on yours instead, but she rebuffed you as soon as you had begun to protest. On the way out the door, with a bag in one hand and a box tucked beneath your arm, you dialed Chris’ number. It only rang once before he picked up.

“I was wondering when you were gonna call,” he quipped. You could practically _hear_ the shit-eating grin on his likely smug face.

“You’re an ass,” you fired back immediately. “I can’t believe you did that, Christopher.”

“Now, now… No need for name calling, sugar.” The sudden urge to roll your eyes was too much to repress, and it was like Chris had read your mind. “Don’t go gettin’ all defensive. I promised you a fucking great date, and I’m gonna deliver. Yes, that includes buying your dress for you. Now, suck it up an’ say thanks, quit bein’ mad, ‘cause I’ve still gotta confirm our reservations.”

“Still not going to tell me where we’re going, huh?” He snorted.

“’Course not. What kinda date d’ya think this is? Just tell me you’re still comin’ so I can call ‘em.” You let out a few muted grumbles of disquiet, but eventually muttered that you _were_ still mad, but after the shit he just pulled, there’s no way you’d cancel on him.

“Perfect!” he cheered back. “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know what time I’ll be there, but for now, I gotta go. Need to call, y’know. _Confirm_ and all. Can’t wait to see you… Bye!”

No more than five minutes later, you received a text from him.

_7:00 sharp. Be ready._

 

*

 

 _6:55_ _pm_ ; you were ready. Dressed to the nines and actually incredibly nervous, you impatiently awaited Chris’ arrival. It seemed like you were checking out the window every few seconds. Silently, you plead with him to hurry. Your nerves were set on edge, and you weren’t sure how much more you could take without throwing up. Again, you checked the time on your phone: _6:57_.

“Come on, Chris,” you whispered harshly to no one in particular. The tips of your nails drummed against the window pane, tapping out an uneven and anxious rhythm.

Minutes flew by. _6:59, 7:04, 7:13, 7:22, 7:29_ … There were only two possible explanations in your mind: either he was incredibly late and would apologize when he got there, or he was blowing you off again. Just the mere thought of the latter made you want to cry. So much time and effort had been put into this, more so from his end, and you didn’t want to believe that he’d set you up.

Before you could put too much more thought into it, a sleek black car pulled to a halt beside the curb. Just as you peeked through the curtains, a pair of long legs catapulted from the driver’s side door and out came Chris. He, too, was impeccably dressed. Fresh-pressed slacks, a black button-down with the top three buttons undone, and a fitted black jacket, there was something stupidly sexy about this man. You couldn’t deny that, no matter how frustrated you were with him.

Progressively, he made his way around to the sidewalk and up the stairs. The intercom beside your door began to buzz. You pushed the talk button and were met with Chris apologizing profusely. There had been a slight issue with the car that had to be fixed immediately; though he admitted that he wouldn’t have minded being stuck on the side of the road with you for a few hours had it happened later.

“Come on down, gorgeous. We’ve got a dinner to get to,” he chuckled, clearly relieved that you weren’t upset with him. You just told him you’d be down in a minute and proceeded to grab your small clutch off the coffee table. A last minute check of your make-up inspired you to head out because _god damn_ you looked good. The door was locked behind you, and you cautiously made your way downstairs.

To be fair, you knew how good you looked. But the look on Chris’ face when you stepped outside was priceless. His lower jaw hung slack, eyes wide. His palms gestured outwards, but he didn’t speak for a moment.

“Problem?” you quipped, crossing your arms with a smirk. He shook his head like he was clearing all the clutter.

“Jesus Christ, _no_. Not at _all_. Fuck,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand across the beard blanketing his jaw. “God, you look fucking _stunning_. I mean, I can’t… _Why_ … Okay, let’s just _go_ before I make a bigger ass of myself.” Chris extended one hand to you, waiting for you to accept it. Your fingers tangled between his slowly, which brought a broad beam to his lips, and he tugged you gently down the steps of the stoop and to the car.

Being ever the gentleman, Chris stopped at the passenger door. His free hand reached out to the handle, giving it a firm tug. When you went to pull your hand out of his to get in, he tightened his grip.

“Wait…” You glanced over. At that moment, you worried that you might just cave. Give him anything and everything under the sun that he could possibly want, no matter the cost, be it personal or financial. No concerns about any possible repercussions. _Anything_ Chris wanted, anything _at all_ , and you wouldn’t have said no to him. Not in that single, split-second moment.

He was giving you that longing, doe-eyed stare. The edges of his teeth nipped at his lower lip, drawing it in tightly between the two flawless rows. Something in your gut told you exactly what was about to happen, but your body refused to react just yet. Your eyes locked on his, and he started to lean in a bit.

“Can I just…” Chris left the question open ended. Heated, labored breaths washed over your lips as he moved in closer.

“Please,” you whispered back, letting your eyelids fall shut. His bottom lip barely grazed yours, but the contact shot a satisfied shiver up your spine. You had to have _more_. You _needed_ more. His lips parted further, but you mistook it as a sign of departure. The desperation resonated deep in your bones, and you couldn’t really help but chase that feeling, much like you were chasing the feeling of his lips on yours again. He didn’t deny you, per se, nor did he give you exactly what you wanted. Whether he was being a true gentleman or a _god damn filthy fucking tease_ remained to be seen, but you were leaning towards the latter. That top lip barely made contact with yours, and he began to pull away. At the threat of losing that touch, your brain went haywire. You surged forward, meeting Chris in the middle for a heated kiss that was an even split of teeth, tongues, and actual emotions. Kissing him in front of a camera felt nothing like this. Nothing felt like this. Cliché as all hell, but if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear it was the Fourth of July with all the fireworks in your head.

By the time he pulled away, you’d lost another five minutes and every single breath left in your lungs. Your eyes felt heavy, like they were glued shut. Chris pressed his forehead to yours. The tip of his nose tapped yours a few times in an uneven rhythm, like his whole body was swaying. In reality, he was stock-still. You hadn’t even attempted to breathe yet, mostly because you were terrified of the awful wheeze or squeak or whistle that might come out.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice hoarse and strained. There was a dry chuckle beneath his gravelly tone, which immediately made your heart plummet into the pit of your stomach. _Was that a mistake? Did he really not have any intention of kissing me?_ “I should’ve waited until after, y’know? That’s when you’re actually supposed to kiss your date and all… I feel like I’m a fuckin’ sweaty-palmed, weak-kneed teenager again, takin’ out a girl for the first time. Doin’ shit all backwards and messing things up. God, my ma’s gonna be pissed when she hears about this…”

He shook his head, but maintained the contact between the two of you. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“You’re not messing anything up. We don’t exactly do things normally, Chris.” He snorted inwardly, giving you another small peck.

“You got that right. We need to get going, though, or we’ll be super late.” You nodded, stealing one last quick kiss before settling yourself into the passenger’s seat. Chris closed the door behind you, jogged around the front end of the car, and slid into the driver’s seat. His hand resumed its position within yours, and off you went.

The drive itself took about half an hour. He’d specifically chosen a very nice restaurant that was almost completely out of the way to ensure privacy and no interruptions. The owner was already well informed that he was to release no information whatsoever about either your presence or Chris’, and if someone happened to ask, he was not to reveal who each of you attended with. It was somewhat of a policy of his to protect his celebrity customers with the utmost care.

Upon arrival, Chris told you to stay put for a moment as he sped around to your side of the car. Again, he opened your door for you and held out his hand. Graciously, you took it and the pair of you began to walk inside.

The hostess was standing behind a tall, black podium, eyes scanning over what appeared to be a list in front of her. Chris cleared his throat, removing his hand from yours. Instead, he opted to tuck it around your waist as the young lady gave him a friendly smile.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked softly, flicking a piece of hair off of her shoulder. Chris shot back that mega-watt smile and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. I have reservations. Two for Evans.” She nodded and looked down at her list, running the tip of her pen over the names. Impatiently, she tapped it against the page, glancing at Chris, then you, then back to her list. A gruff sigh and she put on the most apologetic of faces.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Evans, but you’re late. We already gave away your reservations. Either I can reschedule you, or you can wait around in case someone else misses theirs, but I cannot seat you when we’re expecting a full house tonight.” Chris cocked an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to make a rather nasty comment, considering you were less than ten minutes late, but he held his tongue instead.

“I understand. Guess we’ll just have to go somewhere else…”


	6. F - Fervid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter than usual this time.  
> I'm gonna take a short break from this one until I can actually get some constructive feedback.
> 
> <3

**fervid** – _adjective_

\- heated or vehement in spirit, enthusiasm, etc.

\- burning; glowing; intensely hot.

 

* * *

 

 

With the date (mostly) being a wash, Chris settled on getting ice cream instead, considering you’d already made the drive and it was getting late. The two of you messed around a little, wiping globs on each other’s noses and shoving the other’s cone away when you’d tried to lick it. After washing the melted ice cream off your hands, he took you home, pausing on the stoop just long enough to give you a sweet, chaste peck and thank you for a great night, as well as apologizing yet again for the missed opportunities. You reassured him that everything was fine. Sure, it didn’t quite go according to plan, but you insisted that it was an evening well spent, just the two of you together, and you didn’t need anything fancy or upscale. He finally resigned his argument, sealing his loss with an intense but gentle kiss. Following that, Chris made a snail’s departure, taking each step to his car deliberately, slowly. You lost sight of him after you closed the door to your building, but when you peeked out your curtains, he was still leaning against the passenger side door. His collected exterior cracked as soon as he saw you, splitting his mouth into a wide grin. You blew him a kiss (which he “caught” playfully), and watched him get back into the car.

As much as you would’ve enjoyed it, sleep didn’t come easily that night. You kept replaying that kiss in your head, taking in every single detail. Details like the look in his eyes, the feel of his lips, the gentle scratching of his beard against your skin. Nothing had ever felt so immediately right, and that’s exactly why it kept you awake. Unfortunately, that’s also what made it so difficult for you to drag yourself out of bed the following morning.

Eight o’clock rolled around much sooner than anticipated, not even three hours after you finally fell asleep. Your alarm was screeching in your ear to get up and get busy preparing for the upcoming evening’s events. With a groan of protest, you rolled over and swatted the switch to silence the noise before reaching for your phone. The cord popped out of the charger port with a flick of your thumb.

**One Unread Message**

The lone text in your inbox was from Chris, time stamped at just after seven.

**Good morning, gorgeous! Thanks again for a great night. Sorry things didn’t really go as planned. : /**

You shook your head a little with a soft smile. He was still apologizing for things completely out of his control. It was endearing, but also somewhat aggravating. You tapped out a response and hit send before tossing your phone aside in favor of a shower.

**No need to apologize, Chris. It was still my favorite date! See you tonight <3**

Following your extensive hot shower, you dressed down for relaxation. The morning was stacked back to back with appointments: massage, hair, nails, facial, waxing, the final adjustment for your dress… Just thinking about everything made your head throb. Luckily, you’d managed to rope Kat into going through all of this with you, considering she was, for all intents and purposes, your date for the evening.

Just as you were tying the drawstrings on your sweatpants, your doorbell rang. Foregoing putting your socks on for now, you half-jogged to the door. The chain bolt slid back with ease. You tugged the door open to be met with quite the sight. Rows of flowers in every possible color were lined down part of the hall. Collectively, there were only four vases, but they all looked more like pots. A man stood in the midst of the calamity, waiting patiently with a clipboard and a pen.

“Can I help you?” you asked quietly. His head shot up from the paper on his board, and he smiled widely.

“Yes, ma’am. I just need you to sign for these.” He thrust the clipboard into your hands after clipping the pen in at the top. You glanced down at the form, spotting the blank line for delivery confirmation. A flick and flourish around a few scribbled completed your signature and you handed the board back to him. “Would you like a hand in taking these inside?” You nodded quickly.

It took practically no time whatsoever to take them all inside. After the delivery man’s departure, you began to search for a card. The quest, however, came to an end without resolution. This time, there was none to be found. That was a bit confusing to you, but you shrugged it off as soon as your heard another sharp knock. It was one that you recognized this time, so once you realized you didn’t lock the door, you called out “Come in!”

“Heeeeey, dollface!” Kat crooned, followed shortly after by the sound of the front door closing. You grabbed your phone and took a quick snapshot of your flowers. Immediately, you sent it to Chris, accompanied by a few words.

**No card this time. These beauties from you? : )**

Just after hitting send, Kat strolled into your kitchen. Her eyes widened.

“Holy _shit_ ,” she hissed. “Who did you have to sleep with to get these? _Jesus_ , they’re like… There are _so_ many.”

“I didn’t sleep with _anyone_ ,” you reassured. Kat rolled her eyes teasingly, giving you a ‘yeah right’ kind of look. “I’m actually waiting to find out who sent them.”

If you didn’t have her full attention before, you sure as hell did now. She cocked an eyebrow, smirked, and winked.

“Bet I know who they’re from.” No other words needed to be exchanged, seeming as you knew exactly what she was thinking. The alert for a new text mere seconds later only served as confirmation. Every single individual flower was hand-selected by Chris specifically for you. He’d detailed each one’s placement with the others meticulously (with the help of the florist, which he begrudgingly admitted to). While it was a bit boastful, he specified that the two men spent a good two and a half hours “at the ass-crack of dawn” organizing your arrangements together. There was never a single doubt in your mind that Chris was a hopeless romantic, but this just completely proved it.

You snorted inwardly, but nodded.

“I bet you’re right.” Kat shot you another wink before making a lewd gesture with her hips. You just shook your head, silently insisting that _no_ ; you had not slept with Chris nor was that option really even an _option_ at this point.

“Dirty birdy,” she sassed. “Well, you ready to go now, or…?”

 

*

 

Drinks were flowing, shots were being downed, and obviously, everyone was feeling pretty good. The premiere had gone over much better than expected. All the hard work that the cast and crew had put in was well beyond worth it. Captain America: Civil War would absolutely kill it at the box office and pave the way for stand-alones for multiple characters. Hell, three actors (four, if you counted yourself) had already been approached by Kevin Feige himself in regards to extending your contracts. Mackie had even been in the midst of discussing a Falcon solo film, covering Sam’s back-story, when he saw you.

And, oh god, what an event that was…

“Lord have mercy!” he hooted, dancing up behind you. He slung an arm around your hips, pulling you close. “All these Marvel ladies tryin’ to kill me tonight, I swear. Y’all just look too damn good!”

“Thank you!” You beamed, stopping and turning to straighten his tie out. “You look pretty damn good yourself!” His whole face lit up, and he pulled his arm away to smooth out the front of his jacket.

“Oh, for real? It cost me a lot of ass-kissin’ to get this… Fancy Armani suit,” he chuckled. Someone else must’ve caught his eye, because he pardoned himself and took off, leaving you alone again.

Not for long, though. It seemed like barely a heartbeat before another pair of arms trapped you in their confines. You reached down, placing your hands over the large, warm pair clasped around your waist. A strand of hair brushed against your temple. Out the corner of your eye, you could just make out a darker hue, but not who it belonged to. Before you had to opportunity to look, one of the many photographers called your name, pausing in front of you.

“Would you mind if I get a picture of the two of you?” he asked, tapping his press badge. You nodded, feeling the other party also agree. They tucked their chin into the crook of your neck. The bristled hairs on their jaw scratched at your skin as the young man got his shot and then thanked both of you. You craned your neck to see who it was.

“You snuck up on me!” you snarkily sighed. Sebastian just laughed, pushed a quick kiss to your temple.

“You gonna give me a hug or keep whining?” With an exasperated eye roll, you spun around and tossed your arms carelessly around his neck. The two of you shared a tight squeeze, lasting perhaps a bit longer than usual. Sebastian leaned back, giving you a good once over. He gave you an appreciative click of his tongue, muttering ‘ _damn_ girl’. You cocked an eyebrow. “You look fucking incredible. Seriously, you clean up well…”

“Seb, you’ve seen me at premieres before,” you answered, swatting his chest with your fingertips. He snorted, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“I know, but _god_ , just… Am rămas fără cuvinte!” You looked down shyly, suppressing a giggle. The apples of your cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I swear… I’ll never get used to this.”

Honestly, you weren’t sure what to say to that. Was… Was he hitting on you? No. _No_. He’s not. Not Sebastian. He knew that there was something (you weren’t sure _what_ yet, but it was still _something_ ) going on between you and Chris. Hell, Sebastian had been the one egging you on. He’d done everything in his personal power to set things up. Seb was only one of two people who knew what your favorite flowers were. Sure, Chris and Kat had met a few times, but they weren’t necessarily friends. There’s no way he got the information out of her, much less the address to send all the flowers to or directions to your apartment for your date. It had to have come from Sebastian. It _had_ to. He was _not_ hitting on you. Absolutely not. No way.

The hiss of his last word blew a stream of air towards you, and you knew exactly what was happening. One of his hands clutched at your lower back as the other snaked down to your hip. There was a faint unfamiliar glimmer in his steely eyes. The tip of his tongue flicked over the left corner of his upper lip before his lower lip caught between his teeth. The top row created a crescent of dashed lines into his skin. Reaching up, he tucked a thin stray curl behind your ear. His eyes locked on your lips, and he began to lean in.

Suddenly, you put your hand on his chest, gently (but firmly) nudging him away. He arched an eyebrow. The lip trapped between his teeth poked out into a pout.

“Baz, I think you’ve had a little too much to drink,” you muttered. He chuckled and retrieved one of his hands, raking it through his loose, tousled hair.

“You’re right,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Fuck, ‘m sorry… I’m gonna, uh, go talk to Scarlett. See you later, okay?” Sebastian placed another quick kiss on your temple, reaffirming that he’d see you again in a bit. He spun on his heel and headed off, though you couldn’t quite see Scarlett anywhere nearby.

“He drunk?” a voice inquired from behind you. You glanced back to see Chris and nodded. Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to see him before the premiere started, nor at the after party until now.

Chris had a smile smeared across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. It looked forced and uncomfortable. Despite the mild displeasure etched into his angular striking features, he looked absolutely drop dead fucking gorgeous. He’d opted for a black-on-black ensemble. If you wanted to get technical about it, it was more of a black-on-black-on-black three-piece suit. The only piece that didn’t blend in with his suit was his tie, which was a slightly lighter grey. It had a platinum clip on it. He’d bought the clip while filming in Germany and wouldn’t stop talking about it for days. There was so much excitement for him, seeming as how he’d mentioned that he’d always wanted one, but waited until then to buy it.

“Unfortunately, yeah.” Chris huffed out a short, curt laugh.

“He gets a little handsy when he drinks, huh?” You nodded again. “Mind stepping outside with me really quick? Y’know, lots of people… It’s making me kinda nervous.” You indulged, gesturing for him to lead the way. He held out a hand to you. When you went to cup his in yours, he shifted, instead lacing his fingers between yours. Taking the lead, he led you to an exit, holding the door for you.

The door clicked shut behind you, prompting you to look up. In Los Angeles, especially in the heart of the city, it was uncommon to see the stars. As if it were part of a plan, though, the city smog had cleared for the evening, leaving a sky blanketed in stars on display for you. Every lit pin-prick shone with extra intensity like it was hand-painted just for you.

Chris released your hand and slipped his arms around your waist, pulling your back firmly against his rock hard chest. Instinctively, you tipped your head back to rest it against his shoulder. Your hands draped over his, and you weaved your fingers between his again. He gave you a tiny squeeze with his forearms.

“I didn’t get the chance earlier to tell you just how god damn _stunning_ you look,” he sighed, letting his forehead come to rest against your temple. “You’re so fucking beautiful. So fucking gorgeous.” You could practically hear your entire face flushing when his heated breaths met your skin.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Mr. Evans,” came your simple reply. You felt him shudder a little against you, prompting you to look back at him as best you could. “You alright? Cold?”

He shook his head with a chuckle before pressing his lips against the sweet spot right below your ear.

“Having some trouble… Can’t behave myself when you look this good,” he grumbled. A thought crossed your mind: take him home; get him out of that suit. Oh _god_ , the sounds he’d make, the faces he’d pull… With beads of sweat running its course down the hollow of his throat, whispering the filthiest things known to man in your ear, making you scream, whimper, _beg_ until your voice was reduced to a low rasp for a day or two. A symphony of explicit sounds, skin on skin marred with foul language and probably more than a few demands for _more of him_ , would create a perfect soundtrack. He’d be panting your name, trying so hard to hold back, show a little restraint. But in the end, that primal instinct would win over, and all bets would be off. Every inch of your body would be his to do with as he pleased. The marks left behind on both bodies would serve as a few days worth of reminders of a night not to be forgotten. You wanted it. You needed it. You _craved_ it. And you could-

“You okay?” he asked, jarring you back. “Man, I must look good today for you to stare at me like that.”

You shook your head, laughing a little.

“Not at all,” you quipped with a smirk. “Just wondering how you went from this morning’s hopeless romantic to this.” Chris took a second to disentangle his hands from yours, then slid his palms down to grip your hips. A sharp yank pulled your ass flush with his crotch, which he pushed forward a little.

“So, you’re saying that I don’t look good?” He put a fake pout on, furrowing his brows. You shook your head again.

“You’re incorrigible, Christopher. Really, you are.” He hummed in approval, sneaking another searing kiss on your neck. His beard rubbed up against your skin a few times, leaving a small trail of irritated skin. When he pulled back, the night air hit the wet patch left behind by his lips. You shivered a little, pushing back against him to calm the goosebumps arising on your shoulders. With next to no sound, Chris drew a breath, blowing a secondary chilled breeze over the spot. Playfully, you elbowed his abdomen. He bellowed out an artificially offended noise, rucking his arm back up around your waist. Once they settled, he whispered “That was mean. You owe me a kiss now”. No way in hell were you about to tell him no.

You turned your head far enough to steal a quick little peck. You pulled away before Chris could even react, which just made him shake his head.

“That doesn’t count,” he growled out. One of his hands came up, redirecting your face back to his. He surged forward, slotting your mouths together in a heated kiss. The tip of his tongue was already tracing the outline of your lower lip before he drew it in. He sucked and nipped at it teasingly, tongue still dancing across in a swirling line. You knew exactly what he was up to, what he was after, and you knew that as soon as he got the rise out of you that he was chasing, he’d shut you down and take you back inside. Really, it was his game. Something about the way he looked at you told you he enjoyed little games like that, which lit a fire in your core.

_If it’s a battle he wants, it’s a battle he’ll get…_

You worked your hips back against him, clutching the hand still against your abdomen. He groaned into the kiss, taking full advantage of his position by tilting your chin higher. Your neck strained a bit under the twist, but you refused to give up. He licked into your mouth, tongue teasingly tickling the roof of your mouth as lightly as possible. As soon as he began to pull back in the slightest, you took the open opportunity to show him you weren’t backing down any time soon. You nibbled his lip a bit harder than necessary. He grunted appreciatively when you gave it a light tug before letting go.

After a few minutes of going at it like absolute savages, he had to take a breather.

“You… Are a little fucking tease,” he sighed, stroking a finger down your jaw. You relaxed into him, laying your forehead in the crook of his neck. He laid his head on top of yours, waiting for his erratic breathing to slow back to a normal pace. “But you put up a good fight.”

You exhaled a slow, soft laugh.

“Wasn’t aware there was a fight going on,” you mumbled, kissing his throat lovingly before nuzzling into him a little more.


	7. G - Guileful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excessive dialogue in this chapter. I received a few requests for a bit more banter between characters.  
> As always, please leave feedback.
> 
> <3

**guileful** \- _adjective_

\- insidiously cunning; artfully deceptive; wily

* * *

 

 

 

 

“ _… sure is a busy girl! The night before the big Hollywood premiere of Captain America: Civil War, she was photographed seemingly on a date with Captain America himself, Chris Evans. But this photo surfaced early this morning of her getting cozy with co-star Sebastian Stan at Civil War’s after party last night. Is she playing them both? Are they sharing her affections? Get the scoop after this commercial break!_ ”

Your heart dropped at the mention of your name. You sat, focused intently on your television. Kat was curled up beside you, one hand cradling her bowl of cereal and the other laced in yours.

“Oh my god,” she hissed, squeezing your fingers between hers. “Don’t freak, okay? We’ll call Mark and get this shit cleared up.”

“Kat, it’s okay. I need to call-”

“Are they fucking serious right now? Like, I get that it’s their job to ruin people’s lives, but Chris doesn’t deserve that. Sebastian doesn’t. You sure as hell don’t. What is wrong with them? Jesus Christ, it’s like they can’t take a day off from trashing people’s reputations!” Her voice had risen in volume, tone turning to nothing short of rage.

“Kat, just-”

“I swear to God, I’m gonna find those photographers and shove my entire foot right up their asses! I will have fucking paparazzi slippers by the end of the day.” With that, she leapt off the couch, untucking her legs from beneath her frame. She fished her phone out of the pocket of her pajama pants and dialed Mark, your shared publicist, as she stormed into the kitchen with her bowl.

Your mind went directly into panic mode. What if Sebastian saw this? What if _Chris_ saw this? This could ruin _everything_ for you. Everything you’d worked your entire life thus far for. Marvel wouldn’t stand for having a cast member with a nasty reputation. If Marvel let you go, that would close every door they’d opened for you. You’d likely be out of work for a while, considering the number of roles you had to respectfully decline due to your commitment to Marvel Studios, a six-picture contract that you’d only fulfilled half of… Not to mention you’d lose one of your best friends and a guy you were really beginning to fall for.

Tears burned the brim of your eyes. You could hear Kat in the kitchen, yelling into the phone about this “absolute fucking outrage” and “how fucking disrespectful those twats are”. Your ears perked up again at the sound of your name, but it was coming from the television again. Apparently the commercials were over, so it was time to face whatever fresh hell they felt like dealing out.

“ _... just last year got out of a long-term serious relationship with Andy Paulsen, an indie film director from Canada. Sources confirm that the couple split over a cheating scandal, but refused to elaborate further…”_

You had to roll your eyes a little at that. The relationship you shared with Andy was tumultuous at best. Sure, things started off great. He was unbelievably sweet for the first year. You fell completely and hopelessly in love with him. But as things progressed, his true colors began to shine through. He became incredibly mean-spirited, nit-picking every single detail of everything you did or said. Fights would break out over the most trivial shit, and he would take any available opportunity to push your buttons. You were always a firm believer in second chances, though. Unfortunately, you gave _him_ way too many, and he always took advantage of it.

After investing two years in your relationship with Andy, you discovered he was having an illicit affair with one of his former lead actresses, who, at the time, was seventeen. Cruel words were exchanged with express intent to hurt each other, but the final straw was his admission that said lover had recently discovered that she was pregnant. He’d explicitly stated that he did not wish to have children at any point in his life. That was the point in which you grabbed the nearest object to you, which happened to be a picture frame, and threw it at him, screaming at him to pack his shit and get out. In retaliation, he spewed back a few threats. You were both in the wrong when the fight broke out, and you both knew it.

No one made a particularly big deal out of it to the media. No one even mentioned it. What’s done is done, right? There was no need to damage either reputation in addition to the emotional blows already dealt. Instead, he took what was his, you took what was yours, and the pair of you split everything shared down the middle. The end result was a quick, clean cut from each other. You hadn’t spoken with him since.

There were only two people aside from you and Andy that knew the details of the relationship’s demise. So there were only two people who could’ve possibly been the network’s ‘source’. Since you knew for sure that Kat didn’t leak the secret, that left Tori, Andy’s girlfriend. It had to have been her. As much as you didn’t want to, you knew you’d have to get in touch with one of them sooner or later to find out what the hell was going on…

“Okay,” Kat sighed, storming back into the living room. “Mark is calling the head of the network right now. He’s gonna push for a public apology and retraction of their statement on all social media outlets, and they’ll do it on air, too. Told you they weren’t gonna get away with this shit…” You nodded, staring down at your hands. It was taking all of your resolve to keep your cool, control your anger. You needed to focus on that, or you would no doubt lose everything.

Kat continued ranting, but you didn’t hear a single word of it. Your vision tunneled, zeroing in on your thumbs. The sounds around you (including both Kat and the television) began to run together, sounding slurred and far away. Two voices soon melded into one, and the sound they were making became excessively irritating. Like nails on a chalkboard, it was the same sound over and over, continually getting louder until you realized what it was. _Kat_. Repeatedly calling your name.

Your gaze snapped up to her.

“I’m sorry, what?” She shook her head, rolling her eyes. Her index finger pointed to the phone in your lap.

“You gonna answer that?” You looked down, seeing the name ‘ **Thomas** ’ across the screen, accompanied by a silly selfie you’d taken with him. The tip of your thumb slid across the screen, answering the call.

“Hello?”

“Hello, sweetheart! I was just watching-”

“I know, I saw it,” you sighed, trying not to let him hear your distress. He sighed in return, and you could just picture him shaking his head at you.

“Are you alright? Are you alone? I’m in town, you know. Would you like me to come over? I know we’re supposed to have dinner this evening, but we can postpone if you’d like.” You choked back a giggle. Tom always knew exactly how to make you smile. Kat raised an expectant eyebrow, almost as if to ask who was on the phone.

“Oh, Tom,” you muttered. “I’m fine…”

 

*

 

Press was usually a blast. There were laughs all around, providing stomach aches and migraines. New inside jokes were formed; old jokes came back around, not to mention it was a great way for fans to see what you were all like as people. They got an inside look as to how you were with each other. The viewpoint of the fans was just as important, if not more important, than the views of Marvel’s top executives. Considering the recent circumstances, you definitely needed to have the fans on your side.

The morning following your friendly dinner date with Tom, you had to be on an early flight to Paris. Civil War’s premiere schedule was nothing short of hectic. Over the course of two weeks, you were set to hit four cities across the world. Los Angeles was the first, followed by Paris, London, and then Beijing. After all of that was over, it was straight back to the U.S. a week later for more press and the Cleveland premiere.

Because of the timing, you hadn’t yet had the opportunity to speak with Chris about everything. You were almost certain that he knew nothing was going on between you and Sebastian, given the lewd behavior between you and Chris outside that evening. Was it a risk you were willing to take, though? Not at all.

You hadn’t been able to talk to Sebastian yet, either. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was wounded pride or embarrassment on his behalf. He wouldn’t respond to your texts or answer your calls. Considering you were paired with him for junkets, things would definitely get incredibly awkward if you couldn’t work things out. That was what lead you to your current situation: standing outside Seb’s hotel room with cheesecake and his favorite movie. Your trio of sharp knocks surprisingly did not go ignored. The door swung open, and you were greeted with Sebastian toweling his hair.

“Oh, hey,” he muttered, giving you a thin smile.

“Hey,” you answered sheepishly. You lifted the sack of styrofoam boxes to him. “Mind if I come in?”

Sebastian stepped aside, gesturing you inside. You set the plastic bag on the dresser and pulled out both boxes of cheesecake and the movie. Two forks tumbled out of the bag as well. Seb stared at you with one eyebrow cocked.

“That what I think it is?” You nodded, holding one box out to him. “Oh my god, seriously? Jesus, you really _are_ a fuckin’ saint, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I might be,” you quipped, nudging him with your elbow. “Call it a gesture of good will.”

“Then I’m assuming you’re not mad at me, right?” That made you smile. “’Cause I’m sorry about that whole thing. I don’t know _what_ the fuck I was thinking. I was drunk and outta my mind and-”

“I understand, Baz. Don’t worry about that, okay?” He smirked, tugging you into a firm hug until he spied something else over your shoulder.

“Wait, did you really-? We’re watching this right now. Right fucking now, food and all.” Like lightning, he let you go, grabbed his container, and darted over to the bed. He flopped down, propping a pillow up behind his back. You raised an eyebrow as he patted the empty space next to him. “Put that in, and get your ass over here!”

You huffed out a laugh and grabbed the DVD case from the bag. The tray popped open, and you put the disc in, pushing the tray back in. Seb already had the remote in hand, griping at you to get out of his way so he could watch. With a slight eye roll, you grabbed your own little box.

The sheets on your side of the bed were cold. Even through your jeans, you would feel it. Sebastian tugged the comforter up further, covering you both up to your waists. He shot you a look, almost to ask if you were comfortable enough. You nodded almost imperceptibly. The lid popped off his little styrofoam container with ease, and he dug into his cheesecake. A loud moan sounded from the back of his throat.

“I’m gonna get fat ‘cause of you,” he whined, shoveling another fork load into his mouth. “But it’ll be so worth it. How do you always find the best places? Like, it doesn’t even matter what continent we’re on, you _always_ bring me the best food. I hate you so much right now…”

You shook your head, taking a heaping bite of your own.

“Fook oo,” you grumbled back before swallowing. “Dick.”

“Oh pleaf. Oo luf it,” he mumbled. You flicked up your middle finger and held it out towards him, swallowing the mouthful.

“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full? Jesus, Seb, that’s so fucking rude!” He rolled his eyes, shoving your arm playfully. You pushed him back, drawing a groan of feigned aggravation.

“Why are you so mean to me?” he pouted. You shot him a cynical glare before cracking a tiny smile. When you opened your mouth to make your comeback, Seb leaned over and stole a fork full of your cheesecake. He attempted his best evil laugh, but it came out sounding less than stellar.

“You’re such an ass!” He just smirked and swallowed before sticking his tongue out at you. You hadn’t noticed that he’d put his now empty box on the table beside the bed. The man had a mouth like a god damn _Hoover_ when it came to food, so honestly, you weren’t exactly surprised. “Such a little shit today… Ugh, I should’ve stayed in bed!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He waved a dismissive hand at you, but still wore than troublesome grin. “You ready to start this or what?” You shook your head a little, putting your hand on his upper arm.

“Actually, there’s something I still need to talk to you about.” The excitement in his eyes faded, turning into a sterner stare. He fumbled for the mute button. “Have you been keeping up on the tabloids lately? The things they’ve been saying? Seb, this is awful.” Sebastian nodded gravely, looking down.

“Yeah, I saw the magazines. But don’t worry, okay? I’ve taken care of it.” Wait, the _magazines_? It was more than just on television? Shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. You could just imagine the headline… ’ _Evanstan Shares More Than Just Clothes_ ’.

“You’ve… Taken care of it?” He nodded quickly, his entire face lighting up. One finger was held up gesturing for you to wait. He leapt off the bed, lugged his suitcase up from the floor, and tossed it on the bed. After he unzipped it, you couldn’t see what he was rummaging for. Soon, he produced a grey sweatshirt. With an obnoxious grin and half a chuckle, he tossed it to you. You shook it out to get a good look at it. Strangely, it looked like it was just about your size. Perhaps a bit long, but… Wait, what was that smell? It was definitely pleasant and all too familiar. _That little shit…_

“What the hell is this for? It smells like-”

“Wear that tomorrow. Only until you change for junkets, though."

“Seb-”

“ _Sssssshhhhh_ ,” he hissed, putting a finger to his lips. “Just do it. It’s part of the plan. Can we start the damn movie now? C’mon! I’ve been waiting _forever_!”

 

*

 

To put it plainly, you were nervous. Sebastian didn’t give you any details on his “plan”. He more or less just told you to trust him, and everything would turn out fine. All you could do was hope that he knew what he was doing. So, when you got up that morning, you put on the thin grey sweater and your sunglasses before heading out to the waiting taxi.

Paparazzi swarmed the sidewalk. It took three of the hotel’s security guards to clear enough of a path to even _get_ you to your taxi. They were all yelling, calling your name, trying to get your attention. You just kept your head down and kept moving. Two of the guards had you sandwiched between them while the third was using his arms to get people to move. Tape recorders were continually thrust into your face, flashes from cameras blinding you. It was an absolute trainwreck. Something in your gut, though, told you that it wasn’t all coincidence. Only a handful of people knew where you were staying, and the hotel was sworn to secrecy from the second your reservations were made. Between the masses and the sweatshirt, you were starting to piece together Sebastian’s plan. You just knew he had something to do with this…

Upon arrival at the studio where interviews were being conducted, Seb met you at the gate, albeit in a ridiculous sort of disguise. He was even so courteous as to pay your cab fare, though you protested quite a bit. With a flippant wave of his hand, he brushed the whole thing off, telling you it was his way of paying you back for the night before. The two of you made your way inside and settled into your room, awaiting the appearance of the person conducting the first interview. It became a game of hurry up and wait.

The interviewer was a small, squirrelly man. He had neatly cropped hair, but its curl was boundless, making it stick up at odd angles. It seemed like he was nervous, judging by the tremble in his hands. His cup of coffee wobbled in his grip.

“H-Hello,” he greeted timidly. “My name’s Killian. I’ll b-be, uh, asking you a few… Questions.” You leaned forward, shaking his hand though he didn’t immediately present it. Sebastian followed suit, and you both introduced yourselves.

“Very nice to meet you,” you offered. Killian smiled, took his seat, and grabbed his note cards. He shuffled them around a little, probably trying to reorganize them. The camera operator gave him a nod. She held up three fingers and started counting down. As soon as her last finger went down, she pointed to Killian, who seemingly switched into a more confident persona.

“Hey, guys! Killian here, with two of the stars of Marvel’s Captain America: Civil War. Could I have you two please introduce yourselves to our viewers?” Sebastian went first, giving a small wave to the camera. You followed suit. Killian then launched into his series of questions, getting as much detail as Marvel would really allow you to give. He had just approached the question about how long the cast members had known each other when someone slipped their hands over your eyes from behind.

Instinctively, you reached up, trying to pry the hands blocking your vision. Sebastian just chuckled, nudging your arm with his elbow.

“Guess who,” he crooned, sounding awfully proud. You raised an eyebrow before feeling the hands slowly. They were soft, smooth, but rather large. That rules out half the cast, as these hands were definitely male. Veins created ridges along the backs. Knuckles were prominent and tough. There were no rings, so that ruled out a few more. Sebastian was sitting beside you, so it couldn’t be him. Jeremy’s hands were rough and heavily calloused, so not him.

“Chris…” you muttered, shaking your head with a grin. The hands pulled back, and you were met with a pair of lips being pressed to your cheek.

“Hey, beautiful!” Chris chirped, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. You wrapped your hands around his forearms, trying to, in a way, hug him back. Both you and Sebastian couldn’t keep a straight face. You both started cracking up, which just spurred Chris to laugh louder. Somewhere in the midst of it all, the woman behind the camera called cut. Killian exhaled hard, like he’d been holding his breath, then excused himself to speak with the camera woman.

As the laughter began to subside, Chris snuck a sweet kiss right behind your ear.

“You look good in my shirt,” he muttered against your skin, pressing in another kiss. He chuckled in your ear, low and rumbling. Sebastian looked over at the two of you with a huge, beaming grin.

“See? Told you I had a plan,” Seb snorted, nudging you with his elbow again. He rubbed his hands together like a villain unveiling his master plot until you cocked an eyebrow suspiciously. “Chris wore than shirt when he flew in yesterday. You wore it out of his hotel this morning. Paps got shots of both. I’m a fucking genius, and you both owe me. Just sayin’.”

That little shit. That devious little shit.

You glanced at Chris over your shoulder questioningly. He just shrugged and planted yet another kiss on your cheek before finally letting you go. A production assistant plopped another chair down beside you, and Chris took a seat. His fingers laced between yours.

“You should really wear my clothes more often, though,” he sighed, squeezing your hand. “They almost look as good on you as they do on me.” You swatted his arm with your free hand, grumbling about what an ass he was.

Killian poked his head around the side of the camera, looking flushed and a bit sweaty.

“I-I’m so sorry for having to stop. I, uh, well… Are y-you ready? I mean… To, uh, continue?” You glanced between your boys and nodded.

Before the young man had got settled into his chair again, Chris let go of your hand. The loss of contact wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but it was necessary. Play it off subtly, right? He leaned over, though, whispering a few words.

“You. Me. Dinner. We’re going on a real date tonight.”


	8. H - Hedonic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, darlings!<3  
> My apologies for the delay, but hopefully this is worth it!  
> Comments appreciated!<3

**hedonic** – _adjective_

\- of, characterizing, or pertaining to pleasure

 

* * *

 

 

 

No space. There was absolutely no space between your body and his, and there was no intention of creating any. You couldn’t get close _enough_. His suit was in the way. Your dress was in the way. It all had to go, and it couldn’t go _fast_ enough.

Chris maintained a firm hold on the back of your head as he backed you against the door, his lips never leaving yours. Ever since you’d gotten in the elevator, the kiss was open-mouthed, needy, filthy. Teeth and tongues collided. It was a struggle for the dominance you both craved, and neither of you were ready to give up. Not until he tangled his fingers in your hair and gently used that leverage to pull your head back.

He moved in to attack your neck. Instinctively, you grabbed the back of his head, feeling his teeth graze your jaw bone. He opted for a few playful nips, letting his free hand trace a path down the length of your side. It stopped at your hip for just a moment, right when he nipped at your earlobe, but then travelled to your backside. You could feel the grin on his lips when he grabbed a handful of your ass, squeezing sharply. A heated breath hit your neck as he huffed out a chuckle, then went right to work sucking on that sweet spot. You weren’t sure how he found it so easily, especially on the first try, but good _god_ , it felt so fucking good…

“Chris,” you sighed, tapping at his shoulder. “Chris, no marks.”

Unsurprisingly, he stopped. Lifting his head, he planted a much softer kiss on your lips, but before he pulled away, he nibbled at the lower. Your eyes opened to meet his big, bright blues. Even in the dark, despite his playful demeanor, you could see the fire and desperation.

“Mm-mm… Baby, I’m not gonna stop leavin’ marks ‘til I’m sure everyone knows you’re mine.” Well damn it all if that didn’t go straight to your panties. His voice was low, husky, and downright fucking sexy.

“I c-can’t… Can’t have marks,” you gasped, grinding into the obvious bulge behind the zipper of his slacks. “Premiere tomorrow. Not – _fuck_ – professional.” Chris ground back into you, keeping your hips pinned between his and the inside of the door.

“Don’t care,” he sighed back, returning his lips to your neck. With little kisses and nips, he made his way to the front of your throat where he sucked and bit until you were certain an angry, reddening mark had been left behind. The hand resting on your ass slid down to your thigh as Chris tethered it up over his hip. Another bump of his hardened length set every nerve ending in your body alight. Your body was burning up from the inside out, and you were almost certain that this man would be the death of you. But, _oh_ , what a beautiful death that would be. You couldn’t imagine a better way to go.

Chris placed one last kiss at the hollow of your throat, eliciting an absolutely _whorish_ whimper from you.

“ _Fuck_ , that was a beautiful sound,” he whispered after a beat. As if to not waste another second, he sealed his lips over that spot again. The pressure was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but dig your nails into the back of his neck, decorating it with bright red crescents. That noise slipped out once more, embarrassingly louder, but Chris’ responding groan was more than worth it. He lifted his head again with a quiet wet pop.

“You keep makin’ that noise, and we’re not gonna make it to the bedroom.” Again, _straight_ to your panties. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing to you, which is what prompted him to slip his knee between your thighs, preventing you from pressing them together for relief. You planted your mouth back on his, biting at his swollen, scarlet, spit-slick lips.

Somewhere between the sitting area and the bedroom, clothing had been lost. Your dress had been carelessly discarded with Chris’ blazer and button-down halfway between, and his shoes had been toed off before he carefully tugged you down on the bed. He had insisted, though, that you kept your heels on.

You situated yourself to straddle his thighs, running the tips of your fingers down the planes of his sculpted chest. He shuddered slightly when your nails scraped over one of his nipples, continuing downward. You traced the defined fine lines of his abdomen, dancing down the patch of hair beneath his navel, with your hand coming to rest at the most strained part of his dress pants. His mouth fell slack against yours as you palmed him through the fabric. All of your senses were on overload. You could feel his lips parted, hear his ragged breaths. Sweat hung heavy in the air, mixing with his cologne and your perfume. The taste of his mouth and the salt of his skin was something you never wanted to lose. But looking at him, that was an entirely different story.

You glanced up at him through your lashes, breath catching in your throat. He looked absolutely beautiful like this. Stunning, really – flushed cheeks, mouth wide open, eyes heavily lidded. His eyebrows were knit together, creating a pair of pinched lines between them. A light sheen of sweat matted his hair to his forehead, and his lips were bright red and glistening with saliva, both yours and his. He was so god damn captivating like this…

A well-timed roll of your wrist had him throwing his head back, letting out a gravelly curse. Giving the taut bulge in your hand a playful squeeze, you saw Chris’ shoulders tense. He bit down on his lower lip, and when his eyes met yours, something inside you snapped. Your resolve completely crumbled, and you needed more.

One final draw, long and slow, over his tented erection and your fingers moved back up to his belt. Unbuckle, unbutton, unzip, and his pants were haphazardly cast aside, leaving his boxers riding dangerously low on his hips. The deep V-cut lining his pelvis begged for you to dip your tongue in and trace them, but for now, you had to resist. Hooking your fingers on the elastic, you looked up at him again, silently asking for permission. Chris just reburied one hand in your hair and nodded, so you tugged them down just enough.

As soon as his cock was free of its confines, your heart leapt into your throat and its pace increased tenfold. Chris wasn’t _obscenely_ large by any means, but was definitely considerably bigger than you’d anticipated. A slight natural curve, just above average length, and admirable width, it was just one more thing about him that was positively flawless. A new breed of desire burrowed itself in your chest, and it was no longer want. You needed him. To taste him, to feel him…

With an appreciative lip bite, you wasted no time. Giving him your best doe-eyed stare, you wrapped your fingers around the base, holding his cock straight up. Teasingly, you leaned forward, licking a flat stripe right up the slit. The beads of precome now on the tip of your tongue were salty, bitter, and when Chris swallowed hard, you swallowed it down.

“Jesus _Christ_ , you’re a little fucking cock-tease,” he growled out, tightening his grip in your hair. You wrapped your lips around his tip with a smirk. The little whine that came from the back of his throat spurred you to, without warning, down half of his length. He spit out a slew of curses, unintentionally bucking his hips. The fingers in your hair curled into a fist as you began tracing the thick vein lining the underside of his cock. But Chris was quick to release them, instead moving to cradle the back of your head with the rhythm of your bobbing.

“Knew that pretty little mouth would look good around me.” His voice carried as much tension as his muscles, and he sounded absolutely _wrecked_. Ragged breaths fell from his lips, mixed with more profanity.

His tip nudged the back of your throat. You hollowed out your cheeks around his length as you began to draw back slowly, just barely allowing the edge of your teeth to touch him. A long, low moan came out of his mouth. With another wet pop, this time from you, you pulled all the way off. You placed a gentle kiss against the ridge of his tip, looking up at him through your eyelashes. Another flick of your tongue across the leaking slit and you began to make your way back up his body.

The distracting noises Chris was making were enough to completely ruin you, and they didn’t stop once your mouth reached his again. Every gasp and groan, every growl, grunt, and grumble. If you could only hear one thing for the rest of your life, you’d beg for it to be this.

The sound that _completely_ ruined you, though, was the sound of your phone ringing…

With an angry groan, you rolled over, abandoning what was potentially the greatest dream you’d ever had. Blindly, your hands fumbled for the damn phone in the dark. You didn’t even look at the ID before answering with a hostile “What?”

“Jesus… Someone’s fucking _cranky_ this morning,” Sebastian snapped back. You let out an apologetic whine.

“Why are you calling me so early?” Sebastian chuckled, probably shaking his head.

“It’s after eight, dollface. ‘Bout time you get your ass up.” Your eyes shot over to the bright clock beside your bed. He was right; 8:06 am. “Besides, I’ve been up for hours, and I’m so _bored_.”

With a heavy sigh, you closed your eyes.

“You’re buying me breakfast for waking me up,” you droned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’ll head to your hotel after I shower.”

“Or you can just come open your door,” he snickered back. Almost as if on cue, there was a loud knock from the hallway. You bolted upright.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“No. Now let me in. I even brought coffee.”

 

*

 

You cocked an eyebrow, staring at the side-by-side pictures of you and Chris wearing the same shirt. Admittedly, it was actually absolutely adorable. Chris was right; you should wear his clothes more often. Sure, you’d worn his jacket the evening before after dinner and occasionally on set, but this particular sweater of his looked god damn _good_ on you. With an inward snort, you considered not even giving it back.

It still smelled like him, like his cologne. Wearing it felt like having his arms around you. All you had to do was close your eyes, and he was there. That would really come in handy when you were away from him again. When everything went back to normal, press over and premieres passed, it’d be a huge comfort to you. Provided that he didn’t mind you keeping it, that is.

“You okay over there?” Scarlett asked, waving a hand in front of your face. You blinked blankly for a second before looking at her, nodding. “You sure? You seem… Distracted.”

“Just thinking,” you answered. She raised an eyebrow, but could clearly tell by the look on your face that you didn’t much care to discuss the details. Instead of pressing you further, she shot you a skeptical look and turned back to the mirror.

You watched her smooth out the low-dipping neckline of her dress. The dark blue silk was a harsh contrast to her light pink fingernails, but it complimented her pale skin peeking through the cut-outs.

“ _Christ_ , Scar,” you muttered. “ _Everything_ looks good on you.” She let out a raspy chuckle, shaking her head.

“Not _everything_. Don’t be so dramatic.” You gave her a silent ‘are you kidding me?’ face and her little grin turned into a full-blown smile. She reached back, unzipping her dress. “Give me a minute to change and we’ll head out, okay?”

In less than twenty minutes, the two of you were off to meet Lizzie and Emily for dinner and drinks. A comfortable silence filled the car until Scarlett spoke up.

“You two need to get together. Officially.” Well, _that_ certainly came out of left field. You cleared your throat and crossed your legs. The tips of your thumbs twiddled in your lap, and you refused to look at her. You could already feel her staring at you. “I mean it. He’s obviously so head-over-heels for you, and you’re perfect for him.”

“Scarlett-”

“I’ve never seen him so protective of someone. He got so angry when he saw the bullshit about you and Sebastian, and first thing after, he called Sebastian. That’s when they worked out that little stunt at yesterday’s junket. You know how Chris feels about keeping his relationships private. What’s going on between the two of you isn’t even exclusive, but he’s putting his reputation on the line to protect yours.”

“Scar-”

“And another thing-”

“Scarlett!” With a look of surprise, like she hadn’t realized she’d been rambling, Scarlett apologized quickly, giving you a gentle smile. “I want this to be exclusive. I want it to be official. But I’m not going to push Chris into it. It’ll happen when he’s ready, okay?”

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“So, have you guys fucked yet?” Your jaw dropped in surprise, and on pure instinct, you reached out and swatted her arm. She started laughing, pushing your hand away. “What? It’s a serious question!”

You were about to retort until your phone buzzed in your lap. You looked down to see an unknown number on your screen accompanied by **One Unread Message.**

“Unbelievable,” you muttered playfully, shaking your head. “But no. No, we haven’t. Not yet.” Scarlett’s eyebrows shot up, giving you a suggestive look. You rolled your eyes half-heartedly, tapping at the new text.

As soon as you opened it, you wished you hadn’t. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach, and you felt as if you might just throw up. This was over. This was all over. Everything had been settled. You were fine, getting on with your life. This was the last thing you needed.

**Hey, sweetheart. It’s Andy. Look, we need to talk. Is there a time you can call me?**

 

*

 

Blindingly bright lights flashed all around you like lightning in a storm. People were yelling, screaming, calling out for both you and your co-stars. Half of the voices were in French, the other half in English, but neither half relented.

Every few steps down the red carpet, you were stopped by reporters and various news correspondents. There were a handful of those that you refused to speak to, primarily because their first questions pertained to you and Chris or Sebastian. Only one or two asked about Andy, and you refused to comment to them either. More than once, you’d overheard Sebastian shutting them down, too.

“All you need to know is that she’s one of my best friends, and no, we’re not dating. Next question,” he had very firmly stated, maintaining a stern face. The reporter looked like she’d just been slapped, and you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself a little.

After what felt like hundreds of interviews and easily five times as many photographs, you were finally escorted inside the theater by security. On the way in, you’d posed for a few selfies and signed some autographs. One very small child was even dressed as your character, and that just made your heart melt a little. You stopped and asked her if she’d take a picture with _you_ and give you _her_ autograph. Her mother insisted that was the sweetest thing she’d ever seen anyone do and thanked you profusely for your kindness.

The large guards wouldn’t let you stop for too long, though. After a few signatures or pictures, they’d do their best to move you inside while you did your best to meet as many fans as possible. Most of them weren’t there for you, you figured, but with how quickly security was herding everyone else inside, you thought it’d be better than not getting to meet any of the cast.

As soon as you crossed off over the threshold of the theater, you were swept up in a pair of strong arms. They settled on your waist, bared fingers running over your exposed flesh inside the low-cut back.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Chris sighed into your ear, giving your hip a squeeze. “Not that you don’t _always_ look beautiful, but… God damn, you look _wicked_ gorgeous tonight.” You smiled wide, looking up to meet those blue eyes you loved so much. Chris was grinning just as big, a light pink hue on his cheeks.

This was probably your favorite side of Chris. Incredibly sweet, nervous but confident, foul-mouthed and complimentary… You couldn’t help but kiss him.

Your forehead was pressed to his, and you could feel his brows furrowing as he slid one hand into your hair. His lips worked against yours in a steady, heated rhythm. Both of your hands cradled his cheeks, his stubble pricking at your fingers. He tasted like Sam Adams Boston Lager, mint, and a hint of caramel. It was an unlikely combination, but not bad. Not bad at all…

Unfortunately, it was over as suddenly as it had begun. You drew back, still keeping your forehead against his. He let out a muted whine, leaning forward again for another kiss, but you refused.

“My lipstick is not kiss-proof,” you sighed into his open, waiting mouth. He chuckled, rushing in for another quick peck.

“Don’t care,” he muttered back. “You could be wearing the messiest, most obnoxious lipstick you could find, and I’d still fuckin’ kiss ya.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes a little, running one hand down to his chest. He hummed contentedly.

“Probably need you to make sure you didn’t get any on me, though. Wouldn’t wanna face the entire world wearing a color way too dark for my complexion, y’know?” With an amused snort, you leaned back, taking a good look at him.

“I think you’re okay,” you smiled. “Nothing on your face.”

Chris raised an eyebrow cockily before gesturing to his face with his entire hand.

“Not even a little bit of handsome or anything?” You shook your head, swatting his chest playfully. “Aww, c’mon… I know that you know you think I’m hot. That’s why you can’t keep your hands offa me. Probably dreamin’ about me, too, huh? You like me, don’tcha? You want me.” A breath hitched in your throat for a second. Was he teasing or was he serious? Either way, you were certain the questions were rhetorical. Did that stop you from answering? Absolutely not.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed back, pressing a kiss to his throat. “But it’s mutual, isn’t it? You want me just as bad as I want you.”

You left a few more little pecks under the hinge of his jaw, awaiting an answer that never came. With your lower lip now trapped between your teeth, you felt him squeeze your hips harder before pulled you flush with his body.

“Don’t tease me right now,” he growled huskily, nipping at your ear. “Otherwise we’ll never see the movie.”


	9. I - Introspective (Interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit different than usual, so comments would be great. : )
> 
> Also, I have a huge giveaway going on my tumblr, if any of you are interested!
> 
> <3

**introspective** – _adjective_

\- characterized by introspection, the act or process of looking into oneself

* * *

 

 

 

Chris was nervous, plain and simple. This was nothing new to him – the filming schedule, the cast and crew, the large-scale press coverage – so why was he having such a hard time? The answer was pretty straightforward: _her_. He was meeting her _tomorrow_. Sure, they’d never met, but he’d listened to Hiddleston and Hemsworth rant and rave about this girl, regaling him with hilarious stories about their antics, both on- and off-camera, from pranks and prop mishaps to parties and premieres. He had completely lost count of just how many times Sebastian had talked about her. He spoke so fondly of her that Chris almost felt left out. Felt like he was missing out on the eighth wonder of the world and he hated it.

This woman was the human embodiment of sunshine, for fuck’s sake. In her time off, she’d dedicated three solid months to driving across the U.S. and visiting as many children’s hospitals as possible in full costume. She was unbelievably active with Make-a-Wish, making sizable donations at least twice a year and helping schedule visits from not only her, but her co-stars. She’d drop by random colleges every semester and pay off part of other people’s student loans. Chris remembered Hemsworth telling him that she dropped a grand alone in a Starbucks one day, asking the cashier to use it to pay for other people’s drinks until it was all spent, then tucked a fucking hundred dollar bill in their tip jar. A thorough patriot, she and her best friend, Kat, had flown to Afghanistan and met American troops still stationed overseas. The pair had met every single person on that base, even though it meant that they had to stay for nearly a week. And a year later, when one of those soldiers was killed in combat, she not only attended the funeral, but paid for the whole thing to help ease the financial burden on a grieving family.

As if all _that_ wasn’t enough, she just _had_ to be absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. Chris couldn’t recall ever seeing an unflattering picture of her. Everything from her awards show appearances to her make-up free, bed-headed, just-woke-up selfies on Instagram had him struggling to pick his jaw up off the floor. Hell, one of his favorites (and he hated owning up to the fact that he even _had_ favorites) was a picture of her wrapped up in a blanket with bloodshot eyes and the tip of her nose a violent shade of pink. It was captioned ‘ **i feel like death : ( #sickday** ’. His heart ached for her, and he just wanted to take care of her, like she took care of others.

Chris would never admit it out loud, but he’d spent a lot of time thinking about her. It made him feel like an obsessive fanboy, considering they’d never met, but sometimes he didn’t mind. Especially when he was in the shower, thinking about her pretty pink lips wrapped around him like his hand was and… Well, you get the picture. Yeah, he usually felt guilty afterwards, but some nights, it was worth it.

He felt like a fucking pre-teen again. Crushing on a woman that he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell with was basically his forte until he turned 17. At 33, he was used to being considered one of Hollywood’s more attractive men, but she made him feel like that goofy kid with the bead necklace. Frankly, he just hoped he wouldn’t make a complete jackass of himself at their first table read together, like that kid used to do all the time.

Chris flopped down in the chaise lounge, armed with a mug of coffee and his copy of the Civil War script. The mug found a home on the side table, and a highlighter found a home in his hand. He dragged a hand over the coarse hairs blanketing his lower jaw before stretching out his legs on the ottoman. As he folded the cover back, his phone let out a sharp trill. He groaned, dropping the script in his lap. Arching his back, he dug into the pocket of his sweatpants, fingers fumbling to grab the stupid thing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, finally pulling his phone out. The bright screen stared back, bearing the notification of two new messages. Without much thought, he swiped his thumb across the screen and opened his inbox. Both messages were from Sebastian, or as his phone proclaimed, the Wiener Soldier.

**Me and Mack are gonna go to lunch tomorrow. You wanna come?**

**And yes, she’s coming with us. Haven’t invited her yet, but she won’t say no.**

_Shit_. Shit, shit, _shit_.

For a brief, shining moment, Chris’ anxiety had subsided. But now it was back in full-force, burning his nerves from both ends. He bent one knee, resting the bottom of his foot against the suede upholstery. The muscles in his calf tensed, and he began to bounce his leg up and down. Honestly, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was as if his brain was trying to physically shake all his worries out without his consent.

After staring blankly at the empty reply box for a solid two minutes, he finally raised his thumb to write his response. He typed back a quick ‘yeah, sounds good’ and laid his phone face down on the chair’s arm. The cap popped off the highlighter with ease, and Chris set to work highlighting his lines.

Page after page, line after line, hour after hour… After six cups of coffee, twelve anxious checks of his phone, and upwards of twenty shifts in position, he was finally done. Delicately, he closed the cover, smoothing out the wrinkle beside the spine. The nerves had once again settled down, and he felt a little better. But between the hours spent reading and marking and the restless fidgeting and twitching, he was surprisingly tired.

Chris shifted himself in the chair, slouching down enough that his feet hung off the edge of the foot rest. Slowly, he let his head lull back until it came to rest on the back cushion. His sleep-weighted eyelids were so heavy. They fought so hard to stay open, but it was to no avail. In the end, his weary mind and drained body won out, and he fell fast asleep.

 

*

 

 _“Christopher?” a voice called out softly. It was_ her _. Chris would know that voice anywhere (especially after the number of her press junkets he’d watched, not that he’d ever admit to that either). “Chris, honey, you almost done?”_

_“In here, sugar. C’mere. You gotta see this.” He could hear the uneven pitter-patter of her feet on the oak flooring in the hallway, but he could not yet bear to tear his stare from the fresh coat of bright blue paint on the wall in front of him. Her steps stopped in the doorway, and he heard a gasp._

_“Oh my god,” she whispered. Chris grinned to himself, knowing all too well that she had that devastatingly beautiful smile on her face. Sheepishly, he looked down, admiring the spatters of green, yellow, and blue on his hands before glancing over to her. She was standing just across the threshold, cradling her swollen belly. The tips of her fingers traced a series of circles across the underside of her seventh-month bump. God, she was so fucking beautiful. “Chris, it’s perfect. He’s gonna love it.”_

_“You think so?” he asked, wiping his sweating palms against the sides of his t-shirt. She nodded quickly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were watery, making the tip of her nose turn bright pink. Oh, how he hoped she wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t take that. There was already an immense urge to kiss her that he was holding back, but if she started crying, he’d never be able to stop himself. Kissing her was something he couldn’t do right now. The only thing that really even stopped him in the first place, however, was…_

_“Who’s gonna love what?” Sebastian crooned in her ear, as he crept up behind her. His arms draped around her waist and he began to smooth his hands over her stomach. She giggled, wrapping her small, delicate hands over his, and Chris could hear an unbelievably faint clink of their wedding rings bumping together. He felt his jaw tense and his stomach turn over. When Sebastian planted a strategically maneuvered kiss on her lips, Chris felt his hand clench into a fist. And the more he thought about it, the more he watched the two of them together, bonding over their unborn child, the less restraint he found. When Sebastian’s hands wandered to the top of her growing stomach, just barely beneath her breasts, Chris lost it. He completely fucking lost it. Even her screaming at him, trying to grab his arms, begging him to stop, he just couldn’t control himself. It was like he lost every last ounce of restraint he had reserved. He just kept throwing punches. He couldn’t stop._

_Hit after hit after hit and Sebastian wouldn’t fight back. He wouldn’t fucking fight back. If anything, that just served to piss Chris off more. He could hear her pleading “Chris! Chris, stop! Please! Oh my god! Please, Chris!”, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t._

_The ridges of his knuckles were covered in blood from Sebastian’s mouth and nose, making a slick squelching noise every time Chris landed another punch. Dark splotches spattered the floor around his friend’s head, marring the beauty of the hardwood flooring. He felt Sebastian’s cheek bone crack beneath the pressure of his next punch, and even though it sickened him, he couldn’t stop._

Chris bolted upright in bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping down the side of his neck. It traveled in a curve, pooling in the hollow of his throat and the dip above his collar bone. Wide-eyed and frantic, he wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. His blank stare darted across the room, searching for something, anything to keep him grounded. Finally, his eyes came to rest on his Tom Brady jersey, draped over the end of the footboard, and he began to come back into himself. Another deep breath and Chris realized something. With every expansion of his rib cage, there was a dull, throbbing pain. He grimaced, reaching over to turn on his bedside lamp.

As light flooded his bedside, he looked down, determined to find the source of the ache. It certainly didn’t take long. His right side was bright red, some spots already starting to blacken around the edges. Had… Had he been _hitting_ himself? Did he seriously _punch himself_ in his sleep?

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” he groaned, running his fingers over the angry flesh. There was a strong urge to flinch when he felt another twinge of pain, but he refused. If he let it bother him now, he’d be a bit more than sore in the morning, and that’d make filming even worse.

For only knowing the woman for six months, Chris was strangely irrational when it came to her. He was protective, possessive, even jealous sometimes. All common sense went out the window when she was around. The day he met her, he practically asked her on a date. Not the smoothest move in his repertoire, but it worked, didn’t it?

With an irritated grunt and the realization that he definitely wouldn’t be getting any more sleep, he managed to untangle his legs from the sheets and crawl out of bed. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he made his way into the small kitchenette and started brewing a pot of coffee.

Somewhere around his sixth cup of coffee, his fourth piece of toast, and his twenty-second consecutive level of Candy Crush, Chris got an idea. He wasn’t sure that it was actually a good idea, but he wasn’t exactly convinced that it was a bad idea either. Maybe if he was of a sounder mind, he’d regret it. Maybe he’d regret it immediately after doing it. Maybe he wouldn’t regret it at all…

His last thought still lingering in the back of his mind, he felt a surge of confidence run through him like electricity from a shock. He closed the game, not daring to second-guess himself. No hesitation, no more consideration. Opening a new text message, he composed one… To her. It wasn’t anything overtly flirtatious. Just two simple sentences that he trusted would get the sentiment across.

**Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. Hope you’re sleeping well and this doesn’t wake you! : )**

 

*

 

Fucking Georgia. _Again_.

To be fair, it was a lot less hot this time. Chris wasn’t trapped inside his Cap suit (which, despite all its “windows” and ventilation spots, fucking sucked), he wasn’t rehearsing or filming fight scenes, he didn’t have to spend hours in direct light of the blazing sun. Instead, he had a lot of indoors scenes, breezy t-shirts and jeans, and he was so fucking grateful that he didn’t have to shave. Hair and make-up kept up on his beard for him, so that allowed him to be lazier than usual.

He didn’t think anyone really understood just how relieved he was to finally let go for a while. He thought about it all the time. For most of his acting career, he’d been told to bulk up. He needed to be big, muscular, defined. But for this role, he was specifically asked to slim down. That didn’t mean he didn’t have to follow a very strict diet, but it did mean that he didn’t have to practically live in the gym anymore. The only thing that really even bothered him about the change was how everyone kept commenting on his smaller frame. His loss of mass was definitely noticeable, and practically everyone he met made sure to inform him of such. Chris had no problem admitting that it bothered him, either. He wouldn’t go out of his way to say anything snarky in return, but he took every available opportunity to ask people not to mention his size. Well, his exact words were: “Look, I know I’m wicked small right now. Trust me, I know. You guys don’t have to tell me, okay? Please don’t remind me.”

Honestly, he was having a great time filming. It was wonderful to work with Octavia again, especially after all their shenanigans filming Snowpiercer. Marc Webb was an incredible director, the script was flawless, the rest of the cast were positively fantastic. It was, ironically, a _gift_ that he’d been cast in this movie. Probably one of the best filming experiences he’d ever been a part of (aside from filming for Cap, of course), and yet he couldn’t pull his head together.

His mind wasn’t in Georgia, nor was his heart. They were off together, vacationing in Los Angeles. They were with _her_. And as much as he wished otherwise, he missed her. The sound of her laugh was torturing him, playing over and over on an endless loop in his head. Her smile was permanently etched into the inside of his eyelids, and he saw it every time he blinked. Even though he was on the other side of the country, he’d swear from time to time that he could smell her perfume, feel her hand on his arm, feel _his_ arms around her.

She was like a fire, burning rampant through his veins. The second he first touched her, a spark was lit. Every little touch since just fanned the flames, turning that spark into a raging wildfire. They licked higher and higher, making him a little hot under the collar. He couldn’t escape it. There was no way around it, no way through it, no way under or over it. She was a fire, and Chris would gladly burn to ash for her.

“Chris? Are you still there?” He blinked a few times, finally remembering what he was doing. His phone was pressed to his ear, fingers cramping up a little from his grip. Switching hands, he shook out the tension before taking a deep breath.

“Yeah, man. Still here,” he answered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Sorry, got distracted.”

His brother chuckled on the other end of the line, and Chris could practically see him shaking his head. After that, there was a momentary silence, and Chris heard Scott let out a low whistle, followed by, “Ooh, sounds like big brother’s got it bad.”

Chris snorted. It was his turn to shake his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied as plainly as he could. Scott let out a loud “HA!” before laying into Chris.

“How stupid do you think I am? Oh my god, Chris, it’s like you think I don’t know my own brother. When you zone out like that, it means one of three things. You’re thinking about food, you saw something that surprised you, or you’ve got a girl on your mind. I know it’s not option A, since you were just bitchin’ to me about being so full from lunch that you could puke. Definitely not option B, because knowing you, your lazy ass is lyin’ on a couch in your trailer so that you _don’t_ throw up, meaning you can’t see _shit_. That means it has to be option C.” Scott paused for a moment, and Chris pictured him tapping his chin mockingly. “Tell me about her.”

“Scott,” he began, only to be cut off.

“Tell me about her, or I tell everyone who taught Miles the f-word.”

“You wouldn’t…” Oh, that sly little bastard.

“But I would. Mom’s gonna be _pissed_.” Chris groaned, throwing his forearm over his eyes. He knew Scott wasn’t lying, nor was he exaggerating. Chris had a mild slip-up in front of his nephew about a year back, and whenever the boy would get frustrated, he’d just yell, “Aw! What the _fuck_ , guys?!”

There is no _way_ he could risk his mom _or_ his sister finding out about that. Yeah, it was an accident. But even the best of intentions are riddled with flaws sometimes. Chris didn’t know if he could handle the inevitable look of disappointment his mother would give him. His sister would surely kick his ass. Scott had been holding that threat over him for a while now, but this is the first time he really used it as a threat. All for information.

“Yeah, information about a girl you’re clearly in love with,” Scott snarkily admonished. _Shit_ … Had he been thinking out loud? That, or Scott’s psychic, though Chris was leaning towards the former.

“You really wanna know about her?”

“You think I’d threaten to rat you out if I didn’t? C’mon, man. I’ve been holding on to that leverage for a long time. Start talking or I’m calling Mom.” Chris rubbed his eye and adjusted his position, knowing very well that he’d better get comfortable, because this was gonna take forever…

 

*

 

_“…about a girl you’re clearly in love with…”_

For six months, he couldn’t shut it off. It was an endless echo, a nagging in his mind to consider it. Think about it. And the more Chris thought about it, the more he realized it was true. He _was_ in love with her. _That_ he could admit. Not to her, of course, but to himself. What cemented it, though, was when he saw a magazine cover boasting that they had the inside story and irrefutable proof. Normally the invasion of privacy would’ve bothered Chris, but not this time. He didn’t mind that the whole world knew he was crazy about her, and that’s what led him to his current situation.

Chris was settled into a cozy armchair in Sebastian’s hotel room, the tips of his fingers dragging over the upholstery. A mix of boredom and excitement had him drawing nonsensical patterns into the microfiber. The ball of his foot supported his crossed legs, but his heel bounced, jarring his knee into the opposing ankle. His free hand drummed anxiously against his thigh. There were only so many songs he had memorized, and he swore he’d played through every last one of them on the imaginary keyboard on his lap.

Shifting around for the umpteenth time, he uncrossed and recrossed his legs, switching which was on top. Sebastian hadn’t been gone for more than five minutes, but with as impatient as Chris was, it felt like hours. The rhythm of his bouncing knee had become erratic and irregular, as had his breathing. But by the time he noticed and tried to regulate, a mechanized hum alerted him of Sebastian’s return.

“’Bout damn time!” Chris wailed, throwing his hands up. Sebastian arched an eyebrow, giving him a questioning look.

“ _Christ_ , you’re fuckin’ slow,” he grumbled. Sebastian rolled his eyes in exasperation, flicking up his middle finger in Chris’ direction. “And rude as hell. Jesus, Baz. Were you raised in a barn?”

“Yeah, actually,” Sebastian deadpanned. “Not all of us grew up privileged, Evans.”

For a moment, Chris thought he was serious. He thought he’d really touched on a raw nerve and offended his friend. The panic must have been evident on his face because a few seconds later, Seb’s stone cold façade cracked, revealing a half-smirk. “I’m just fuckin’ with you, you gullible dope.”

Chris let out a breath of relief, not realizing that he’d actually been holding it in. Man, he was _really_ off his game today. He played it off as a laugh, hoping Sebastian wouldn’t notice. That asshat was a really good actor, on- and off-camera. Chris was willing to bet than anyone else would’ve fallen for that, too.

“So,” Sebastian chimed back in. “What was _so_ important that you just _had_ to interrupt my plans for the evening?”

 _Oh_ … There were the nerves again. He’d almost briefly forgotten what he’d come here for. _Almost_. In a pathetic attempt to mellow himself again, Chris resorted to more jokes.

“Another night of pay-per-view in your underwear?” Shamelessly, Sebastian nodded.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Sans the underwear, though.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head.

“Over-sharing…”

“ _You_ brought it up,” he snarked, pointing an accusing finger at Chris. “But seriously, Chris, it sounded pretty urgent from your text. What’s up?”

There it was again. That feeling. His mouth was dry, and it felt like his windpipe was swelling up. Any moment, his lungs would collapse in his chest like a dehydrated marathon runner at the finish line. He felt his mouth fall open a little. No sounds were coming out. It felt like his throat was stuffed with cotton, and no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he willed it to be so, the words weren’t coming out.

Maybe it was just the realization that Sebastian might not be so happy about this. Chris remembered what happened with her at the Civil War premiere in Hollywood. He remembered the way Sebastian was holding her, how his stubble was rubbing up against her neck, how close he got to kissing her. He remembered the way Seb kept putting his arm around her for photos, whispering in her ear and drawing out that stunning smile. If Sebastian wanted her, Chris would never allow himself to pursue her. He couldn’t do that to a friend.

“I…” Wow, Evans. That was so fucking eloquent. Real smooth.

“Chris?” Concern flooded Sebastian’s tone, worry etched into his features, and Chris felt like he might throw up. He might actually vomit right here, right now.

_SPIT IT OUT, CHRIS. FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JUST FUCKING SAY IT! TELL HIM. TELL HIM. YOU HAVE TO KNOW. YOU HAVE TO. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. TELL HIM. HE NEEDS TO KNOW. TELL HIM._

“Baz, I-I…” Chris swallowed hard, casting his eyes to the floor. He couldn’t look Sebastian in the eye right now. Not if this was going where Chris’ gut told him it’d go. “I’m in… I’m in love with her.”

Sebastian’s face went completely blank, muscles relaxing and lines fading as Chris looked over abashedly. His lips curled into probably the biggest smile Chris had ever seen on him, and he immediately pulled Chris into a hug.

“Glad you finally figured it out, man. Seems like you and her were the only ones who didn’t know.” Chris raised an eyebrow cynically, pulling back from Sebastian’s crushing hug. “Guess you just gotta tell her now, huh?”

Chris hummed in agreement, carding a hand through his hair. Telling her wasn’t exactly on his mind at that moment. He’d cross that bridge when he got to it. He was, however, thinking heavily about how he was going to make this official. It’d taken him long enough to get that date he’d been chasing, but now he needed to appropriately ask her to be his. Without his permission, his brain started planning, edging on elaborate and expensive. He ~~couldn't~~ ~~wouldn't~~ didn't think about the repercussions of her turning him down, because really, he didn't think she would.

"I'm gonna need your help, Seb. Gotta plan."


	10. J - Jouska

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my darling Clara, without whom I wouldn't have finished this chapter in a timely manner.  
> <3

**jouska** – _noun_

\- a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head

* * *

 

 

 

 

You were abso-fucking-lutely exhausted. Press, premiere, after-party, then sleep off the alcohol and head to the airport. On average, those little naps only lasted around three or four hours, so you were plenty beat by the time you boarded your flight. Complete with sunglasses and sweatpants, you were slumped in your seat beside Frank, trying to convince yourself that it was okay to sleep. An hour and a half flight wouldn’t seem like long enough for most people, but for you, it would be just enough to take the edge off. As much as you hated to admit it, you were kind of a bitch early in the morning, especially without having time to grab coffee.

Coffee. Now that was something that you really shouldn’t be thinking about. It dredged up a sense of longing, like you were mourning the loss of something you did not yet actually have. In the same turn, however, it also drew to the surface a slew of your favorite memories. Specifically, it reminded you of how Chris always brought you coffee during filming. It reminded you of the prideful look on his face every time you showed up on set for a scene with coffee in hand. You’d never seen someone look so enthused about a woman with coffee. It always made your day to see that look, more so than the appearance of the coffee itself.

No one had ever been so overtly kind to you without an ulterior motive. You were used to people doing nice things for you when they wanted something from you. It happened all too often, both in your personal _and_ professional lives. People from high school or college would randomly contact you through social media, people who were horrible to you back then, in hopes of having a famous friend. Distant (and sometimes not-so-distant) relatives would get in touch purely to ask for favors, like autographs from your co-stars. Lesser known actors would try to buddy up with you, then ask you to put in a good word with the Marvel superiors. One woman from wardrobe on another project even had the nerve to try to get close to you in hopes of getting Tom’s number. You didn’t understand how people could actually do that. It was so hurtful, so cruel, so callous…

But not Chris. There was nothing so selfish or vindictive about his intentions. Chris did those kinds of things just because he knew it’d make your day. He did it just because he knew it made you smile.

_“Not gonna lie, at first I really just wanted to make a good impression. But then Renner told me how happy you were to get your coffee every morning, so I just kept it up and…”_

“You got that look on your face, kid,” Frank muttered, nudging your arm with his elbow. You took a deep breath and looked over at him, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“What look?” He snorted inwardly, putting his hand on your wrist.

“That look like Cupid shoved his entire quiver of arrows up your ass. Who’re you thinking about?” You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out. Heat spread across your cheeks, and you just looked down. Frank chuckled. “Oh, so the little lady _is_ in love.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled back, shoving his shoulder. “I’m _not_ in love. Wake me up when we land.”

Frank gave you some sort of teasing response, but you couldn’t hear it. You’d already stuffed your earbuds in and cranked up your music.

After a bumpy, fitful flight to London, everything was go, go, go. Marvel’s private security team greeted you, Paul, Emily, and Frank at the gate immediately after deplaning. They walked your small group down to the baggage claim, then loaded you all into a dark SUV parked by the curb. One of the men made a phone call just before your departure, telling whoever was on the other end that they had the lot of you and would be taking you to your hotel. Turns out they’d booked you all in the same one, probably for ease of access, so it seemed to work out rather well.

Upon arrival, you were promptly checked into your room and given enough time to shower and change before being whisked away once more to start your first round of junkets. With only three days to do press and the premiere, time was very limited. Marvel’s executives controlled your schedule, so there would be no slowing down or stopping, no downtime. Considering you’d never actually been able to really _see_ London, you were pretty disappointed that you’d have to once again skip the tourist shenanigans. What was more disappointing, though, was the fact that you probably wouldn’t be allowed time to visit with Tom. Sure, you'd seen him about a week ago, but as one of your closest friends, it was kind of sad to know that you were both in the same city, yet might as well be on opposite ends of the earth.

For the first few hours of junkets, everything seemed to drag on, almost frustratingly so. There was a steady rotation of interviews, a new one starting mere minutes after the previous one ended. This cycle continued for close to four hours, which was a bit of overkill for a handful of videos that would end up being five to ten minutes long at best. You were beginning to get antsy. With legs threatening to cramp, stomach growling like a bear, and a migraine from hell, you’d never been so thankful to break for lunch. Press was always a lot of fun (this being no exception), but you usually never did so much back-to-back.

“Well, thank you both so much for sitting down with me. It’s been wonderful to meet you, and I’m really looking forward to seeing Civil War for myself.” Noah, the interviewer, stuck his hand out, which you and Sebastian both shook graciously, bidding him your own thanks before the camera man signaled he was no longer recording. Making your way back into the hall, you heard Sebastian’s stomach roar, begging to be fed.

“Oh my god, shut up,” he grumbled, glaring at his abdomen. It gurgled again in response, and he groaned, throwing his head back. “I need food. Feed me ASAP, or I’m gonna die.”

“Bit melodramatic, don’t you think?” you quipped, nudging his ribs with your elbow.

“No. I’m actually about to die, so can we go to catering?” You just kind of rolled your eyes, looking down at the new text on your screen.

**From: Thomas**

**So, a little birdy told me you’re in town? Would you like to grab dinner?**

Sebastian groaned, crossing his arms like a child.

“We can’t go anywhere if you can’t see where you’re going,” he chastised. You didn’t acknowledge his comment, instead typing out a reply that actually upset you a little bit.

**To: Thomas**

**I would absolutely love to! But I’m only here for a couple days, and you know how Marvel gets about schedules… Though, if you’d like, I could always do with a date for the premiere! Interested?**

Sebastian threw his hands up on mock exasperation before slinging his arms around your hips and lifting your feet off the ground. Ignoring your yelp of surprise, he began to walk forward with ease, carting you along like a struggling child. Even when your legs began to flail and you pleaded with him to put you down, he just kept going.

“If you woulda put your phone down and paid attention to me…” He started off sounding admonishing, but it quickly turned to a sing-song tone. “…this wouldn’t be happening.”

 

*

 

It felt like the spots in your vision would never go away. All the flashing cameras left white blotches everywhere you looked. The roaring crowd, coupled with yelling reporters and the cheerful chatter amongst the now packed theater lobby, had your ears ringing as well. It was all so disorienting. In fact, the _only_ thing keeping your grounded was Tom’s friendly arm around your waist. You could vaguely hear him conversing with Elizabeth, but you couldn’t make out any words. You were too occupied with scanning the masses for Chris, hoping to catch him before the movie started.

“You okay, love?” Tom whispered, leaning in right beside your ear. You gave him the best smile you could muster and nodded. The look on his face screamed skepticism, and he gave you a gentle squeeze. “I know you well enough to know when you’re lying.”

“I’m fine, Tom. Really,” you answered. There was a bit of finality in your tone, and Tom must have noticed, since he didn’t press the issue any further.

You turned back to keep looking for Chris, and quickly spotted him tucked away in the corner. He was joined by both Russo brothers, Sebastian, and Robert. The palm of his hand was clasped over one of his pecs, and his head was thrown back. You could practically hear his laugh from across the room, even with all the chatter around you. It was the only sound you _wanted_ to hear, and if you’d been able to move, you would’ve been right beside him.

As his laugh subsided, his eyes caught yours like he’d known exactly where you were the entire time. He looked a bit surprised at first, but then the grin on his face grew. He shot you a playful wink, and took his phone out of his pocket, holding it up to show you, hinting that he was going to text you. When he lowered his phone, you opened your clutch and fished yours out as well. Almost on cue, the screen lit up.

**Chris: Holy shit, you look amazing!!!**

_\- I do, don’t I? : ) Didn’t think you could tell from all the way over there. XD_

**Chris: Didn’t even need to look to know that. ; ) But… Just to be sure, I’ll be over in a sec.**

_\- Talk is cheap, Mr. Evans_

You glanced up just in time to see Chris shift his hips almost uncomfortably and his eyebrows rise. Again, he met your stare, making a show of biting his lip before turning his attention back to his screen.

**Chris: Mmm… Call me that again and there won’t be much talk at all.**

_\- Is that a threat, Mr. Evans? ; )_

**Chris: Not a threat, babe, a promise. And now it’s one I’m definitely gonna keep.**

_\- Tick tock, Evans._

Upon sending the last text, Tom leaned in beside your ear and whispered, “It’s awfully impolite to be on your phone at such an event.”

“It’s awfully impolite to interrupt someone in the middle of a conversation as well, Thomas. Shame on you.” You glanced across the room to Chris again, who you noticed was shaking hands with Joe Russo. He must’ve excused himself from their gathering, because as soon as Joe let go, Chris began making his way through the crowd. Presumably, he was moving towards you, but it seemed that even in his few first steps, someone else was stopping him.

“Shame on _you_! _You’re_ the one who’s so poorly behaved this evening!” Tom chided. Without much consideration, you flung your arm up, playfully swatting his chest.

“Oh, don’t be such an ass,” you quipped. “At least _I’m_ cute enough to get away with it!”

“Why, you bawdy little brat! How dare you! I’m gonna…” He cut himself off as soon as he saw you start to roll your eyes. There was something else muttered under his breath, something probably incredibly rude, but you didn’t quite catch it. It wasn’t that you’d lost interest in what Tom was saying, but you’d lost sight of Chris amongst the sea of people.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of you. You could feel Tom staring at you, practically burning holes into the side of your head. Another beat and you looked back at him, quirking a questioning eyebrow and tilting your head a little. Tom sighed, dropping his arm away from your back and adding, “You’re not at all subtle, you know? Looking for him like that?”

Whatever explanation you expected, it definitely wasn’t that…

“Looks like somebody is in l-”

“Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence, Thomas,” you hissed, point a finger in his face. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Conciliatorily, he put his hands up, signaling defeat. But before putting his hands down, he gestured behind you.

Chris. It was Chris. He was standing there in a dark purple crushed velvet blazer with a matching purple tie laid over a black button down and black slacks. You hadn’t realized from the former distance just how god damn _good_ he looked. It gave you ideas. Bad ideas. _Filthy_ ideas.

“Took you long enough,” you admonished, leaning into him for a hug. His thick, sturdy arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as physically possible. You squeezed your arms around his neck, whispering, “Mr. Evans.”

He let out a pleased sigh, nipping your earlobe before responding, “You must really want me tonight, huh?”

You shook your head, pulling away and smoothing out the front of his jacket with your palms.

“No more than usual, no.” With a coquettish wink, you gestured behind you. “You remember Tom, right?”

He nodded curtly, and you stepped aside. With a tight, tense smile, Chris stuck his hand out to Tom.

“Tom, good to see you again, man.” Something was amiss. His tone was uncharacteristically cold, far from his usual bubbly demeanor. The weak, seemingly forced upturn of his lips didn’t match the look in his eyes, but it did match the heavy tension in his shoulders. Chris wasn’t acting like himself, but you couldn’t very well call him out on it at that moment. That would merely serve to embarrass him, and you wouldn’t forgive yourself for something like that. This was not the appropriate time to ask where his mind was at, given present company.

“Wonderful to see you as well, Chris! It’s been too long,” Tom replied cheerfully, giving Chris’ hand a firm shake. As soon as Tom let go, Chris folded his arms together across his chest, sparing you an almost apologetic look before his eyes narrowed. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was aimed at Tom.

“Not gonna lie, I was pretty surprised to see you. Didn’t know you were gonna be here.” Again, there was that dry tone.

You reached forward, running your fingers down the sleeve of Chris’ jacket. The pressure against his arm seemed to draw his oddly heated stare back towards you. There was something in his eyes, something definitely _not_ good. Something you had only seen once before, at the L.A. premiere…

“Sorry to cut this so short, guys, but I’ve gotta, uh…” Chris gestured over to Scarlett and Jeremy, who were standing just a few feet away. “Yeah. I’ll text you later, though, okay?”

You nodded, unsure whether you should say something or keep quiet. He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward on his toes a little, maybe like he wanted to hug you. But that look in his eye wouldn’t allow him to move forward, so he instead just put a friendly hand on your shoulder before heading over to your co-stars.

 

*

 

Pacing. You were pacing again. The threat of your bare feet burning trails through the carpet didn’t concern you, so you just kept pacing. You’d been at it for well over an hour at this point.

As soon as the credits ended, you made a beeline towards the exit, leaving Tom behind with the masses and ignoring everyone who called your name. You walked quite a few blocks from the theater before hailing a cab and heading back to your hotel. A few straggling fans stopped you on your way for pictures and autographs, but nothing else got in your way.

When you got back to your room, you stripped out of your gown, took a shower, and slipped into your pajamas. After an hour or so of watching some reruns of Friends, you finally checked your phone. There were dozens of missed calls and a handful texts. Most of them (both texts and calls alike) were from Tom, but a couple were from Scarlett or Lizzie. One call was even from Frank. None of them, however, were from Chris, and that… Well, _that_ hurt.

But then Tom showed up, pounding furiously at your door, yelling like a madman for you to let him in until you finally opened the door. He immediately started lecturing you about the dangers of leaving such a large-scale party alone, particularly without telling anyone else. Then, almost like an angry father, he launched into a new speech about how concerned everyone was while you were busy _not_ answering your phone.

When he finally calmed himself down, Tom apologized for yelling, and you apologized for leaving so abruptly. He did question it, though, which sent you into your current routine of pacing from one end of the room to the other.

“And don’t you dare use his attitude this evening as an excuse. You know damn well why he was acting that way.”

“Obviously, I don’t,” you snapped, crossing your arms. “I’ve been with him at every premiere thus far, and he’s _never_ acted like that.”

“Sweetheart, he was jealous.” You couldn’t help but scoff at that. Chris knew you were interested in him, and he knew that you and Tom were close friends. There’s no way he’d get jealous over something like that.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Don’t you get it?!” Tom growled out. “He’s _in love_ with you. Completely, absolutely in love. That is why he-”

“Stop saying that!” You threw your hands up, wound up and defensive. “He’s not fucking in love with me! He’s not, and I’m not. Just fucking let it go, okay?!”

“My God, are you completely blinded?!” he shot back, pinning you in place with his stare. His voice dropped into a low, calm, and somewhat disbelieving tone. “Do you not see how the man acts when he’s around you? Do you not see how he smiles and looks down whenever you flirt with him? Do you not see how he keeps stealing glances every time he thinks you’re not paying attention? He gets this awfully goofy look on his face every time you smile at him, like a damn love-struck puppy.”

“Tom-”

“He wouldn’t have reacted the way he did if he felt nothing, dear. Perhaps you ought to reevaluate your assumption. Even if you can’t, I _have_ seen the way he looks at you. It’s the same way Robert looks at Susan. The way Chris looks at Elsa. Darling, if you weren’t so afraid, you’d see that he looks at you the same way you look at him.”

“I don’t look at him any specific way, Thomas. Yes, I’d like to be w-”

“Face it, darling. You _are_ in love with him. Frankly, I think you ought to tell him. He will not turn you away. Ask anyone who’s ever seen the two of you together.” Tom let out a deep-rooted sigh, shaking his head. He turned on his heel and headed towards the door, pulling it open just a sliver.

“It’s been wonderful to see you, love. Hopefully it won’t be long until we meet again.” He stepped out the door and pulled it shut. After the latch clicked into place, you were left alone in the noisiest silence you’d ever heard. Your thoughts were racing at a million miles an hour. A groan of frustration slipped out. Maybe Tom wasn’t wrong… Were you in love with Chris?

There were times where a touch would set your skin ablaze, begging for him to touch you again. It was the little things, like his hand at the small of your back, guiding your forward, or an accidental bump of hands, or knees or his fingers brushing your thigh beneath the table. And those were just the touches you didn’t initiate. What about the totally cliché fireworks in your mind every time the two of you kissed? What about those hugs of his that left the scent of his cologne on your shirt? What about all the time you spent memorizing the details of his face?

Sometimes the littlest of things would make your heart skip. How he always held doors for you, pulled out your chair, all the effort he put in to impress you, even tonight at the premiere when he called you ‘babe’. He was always so full of compliments, reminding you that he thought you were beautiful as often as possible. Chris Evans was undoubtedly the most perfect man you’d ever met. _Am I in love with him?_

That’s when you started thinking about what it would be like to hear Chris tell you that he loved you. You thought about it over and over again. The sound (though only imagined) of hearing those words dripping with Bostonian honey, coming from his lips…

Yes. The answer was yes. And you had to tell someone.

Half-jogging back to the side of the bed, you snatched your phone up and dialed one of the only numbers you knew by heart before dropping yourself on the edge of the mattress. As soon as you hit the call icon, you began bouncing your leg up and down. Nervous habit, you supposed.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” you repeated, drumming your fingers on your stationary thigh. “Come on, Kat. Pick up.”

After the third ring, you heard the voice of your best friend on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Kat, oh my god... I…”

“Are you okay? What’s going on? Do I need to hurt someone? Because I can be in London in-”

“Kat… I’m in love with him. Oh my God. I’m… I’m in love with Chris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great<3


	11. K - Keen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to Clara, without whom I never would've written this damn chapter. She's kept me so level-headed these last few days especially, and I literally wouldn't have finished this without her. Ever.  
> Also to pleasecallmecaptain on tumblr for being so reassuring<3
> 
> Playlists for this chapter:  
> http://8tracks.com/agentmarvel/alphabetically-chapter-11-karaoke  
> http://8tracks.com/agentmarvel/alphabetically-yours-chapter-11

**keen** – _adjective_

\- characterized by strength and distinctness of perception; extremely sensitive or responsive

\- eager; interested; enthusiastic (often followed by about, on, etc., or an infinitive)

 

* * *

 

 

An incessant banging on your hotel room door woke you up. It was loud, obnoxious, fucking _annoying_. Holy _shit_ , who was seriously that big of an asshole at… 3 am? This had to be annoying the hell out of every guest around you, so you figured you kind of _had_ to answer the door.

You threw the blankets off your body and switched on the bedside lamp before storming over to the door. Sliding back the chain bolt, you yanked the door open with a huff of annoyance only to be met by the sight of an awfully disheveled Chris. His once crisp button down was wrinkled and untucked. The tie around his neck was loosened almost to the point of falling off. Something of questionable origin had been spilled on the lapel of his jacket, and it was completely unbuttoned. His hair was sticking up every which way, and the scent of his hours-old cologne couldn’t mask the sharp smell of whiskey on his breath.

The sight of him immediately shot your heart up into your throat. Every beat of your heart could be felt, heard. He was beautiful, flawless as always, but it wasn’t right. That wasn’t the Chris that you knew. That wasn’t _your_ Chris. He looked so downtrodden, and it took an entire army’s worth of restraint to stop yourself from kissing that pained expression right off his face.

“Can I come in?” he asked sheepishly, ducking his head and shuffling his feet. You opened the door wider and cast your arm back, gesturing him in. Without making eye contact, he slinked by you, toeing his shoes off beside the door. One of his hands came up, raking through his hair, then moving to scratch at the neatly trimmed beard lining his jaw. He took a deep breath, and you watched as his chest expanded far larger than you thought even possible.

Chris turned to face you, and remained silent for a good, solid five minutes. You weren’t about to push him to talk to you about anything, especially not what happened before taking your seats in the theater, so you just let him stare you down. His jaw was clenched, as were his fists, and his blinks were long and slow. Finally, his lips parted. The intensity in his eyes toned down, and he rushed forward. He engulfed you in a tight hug, and then the words just began to spill out.

“I’m sorry, baby. ‘M so sorry. I’m a fuckin’ jerk. I’m a real fuckin’ jerk.” He buried his face in your shoulder, a bit of a stretch considering how much taller than you he was. You wrapped your arms around his neck, placing your hands on his back. The tips of your fingers began to work in a slow, soothing, circular motion as you tilted your head to rest against his. “I’m a jealous asshole, an’ that’s not like me, an’ I’m sorry.”

“Can you tell me what upset you so much?” you asked softly, leaning back to look him in the eye. He lifted his head, but refused to look at you.

“I just… I saw how he was holdin’ you, touchin’ you, and – fuck, I’m so sorry, but I got so mad. I wanna be the one doin’ stuff like that, y’know? I wanna be next to you while we’re schmoozin’; keepin’ you right beside me, kissin’ on ya, all that shit. Then I saw Tom doin’ it. I lost my cool, and I was a total dick to both of you. Didn’t wanna admit it, but I guess I got kinda, y’know… Jealous. I don’t wanna share you with anyone anymore. Just want you to be mine. Is that… Something you, uh, might be interested in?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. Maybe it was just the alcohol talking, but either way, you couldn’t resist the temptation. Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you pressed your lips against his cheek. It was brief and chaste, but it was enough to get your point across. You weren’t upset with him, and now he knew that.

“Why don’t we wait until you sober up a little to talk about this?” you suggested, moving one hand to cradle the side of his neck.

“I’m sober enough right _now_ ,” he whined, dropping his head back into the curve between your neck and shoulder and pulling you as close as physically possible without your two bodies melding together. “Just say yes so I can kiss you already. Please? I haven’t kissed you in, like, three days. C’mon, I’m dyin’ here.”

“You’re such a big baby… Fine. One kiss. _One_.” You held up one finger as soon as he lifted his head. The playful grin on his lips grew a little wider, and he began to lean in. His forehead pressed to yours, causing the tips of your noses to bump into each other, but he kept himself withdrawn just enough that his lips didn’t touch yours. His eyes closed slowly, as did yours, and he allowed his lower lip to barely brush up against yours.

“Just one? Guess I better make it count, huh?” You nodded almost imperceptibly, and, without wasting another second, Chris pressed forward, locking his lips with yours. One of your hands, seemingly with a mind of its own, pushed up into his hair slowly, coming to rest at the back of his head. The tip of his tongue prodded at your lower lip, tracing it delicately. Parting your lips for him, he flicked his tongue across the roof of your mouth, sending a chill down your spine.

Your other hand left his back in favor of cradling his cheek. At the contact, he leaned into your palm, but his lips never left yours. You allowed him to take and keep the lead, guiding you along. There was no struggle for dominance like most other kisses the two of you had shared, no competition. It was just you and him. And for once, the rest of the world was just gone. Silent.

But the taste of Jack Daniel’s and cigarettes on his lips reminded you not to let this go too far. Not tonight. Not right now. So when Chris nipped at your lip and exhaled hard through his nose, you had to end it. You definitely did not _want_ to, but you had to.

He hummed approvingly, still keeping his forehead to yours. Your eyes refused to open, even though you could feel his opening from the flutter of his eyelashes against your skin.

“Thank you,” he whispered, placing one last chaste peck on your lips.

“For what?” He chuckled, and you finally managed to pry your eyes open, meeting his big blues immediately.

“For not bein’ mad at me. For lettin’ me kiss ya, even though I’m three fuckin’ sheets to the wind. Hell, thanks for even lettin’ me in the door. An’ bein’ so fuckin’ beautiful.” Strangely, that made you giggle. It was your turn to steal another quick kiss, and you could feel the smile on his lips.

“And thank you for coming by,” you muttered, letting your hands run from their former position to his biceps. “You’d better get some sleep, though. We’ve got a long flight tomorrow, and I wouldn’t want you to be hungover _and_ tired.”

“Promise me I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ve still gotta talk about this.”

“I promise, Chris. Now go get some sleep.”

 

*

 

It was no secret that the actors Marvel employed had a penchant for karaoke. That was one of the most talked about things amongst the online fandom. Popular enough a topic that it was often brought up in interviews, be it for a YouTube channel, national news, or at conventions. And that, of course, was the first order of business after you touched down in Beijing: finding a place to do karaoke. Sebastian and Anthony took care of that within your first hour in China. Normally, you’d find a polite way to decline the invitation for such. You’d done it many times during filming, citing an entirely too long list of things that you absolutely needed to finish. In reality, it was just because you didn’t exactly wish to make a complete ass of yourself in public, especially not in front of Chris. But Scarlett was not about to let you skip out this time, and that’s what led you here.

Where was here? Here was in a moderately busy bar that offered songs in English. Music pumped through the speakers as various strangers took the stage. A literal range of everything was performed: from Elvis to Lady Gaga, 50s to current music, country to pop to rock and back… And somehow, none of it really registered to you. The only thing on your mind was Chris.

Chris was sitting in a chair beside you, though the seats were so close together that you were practically in his lap. He was lost in a loud conversation with Sebastian, both trying to hear and be heard over the volume of the instrumentals. His elbow rested on the table as he gestured wildly along with whatever he was saying. You couldn’t really hear him, couldn’t focus. Not with his hand on your leg. Not with his fingertips stroking slow, deliberate circles on the inside of your thigh, just beneath the hem of your skirt. His blunt nails occasionally scraped across your flesh, sending a chill up your spine. He’d started after hearing you belt out Tove Lo’s ‘Talking Body’ while looking him square in the eye.

On the third time he caught you shiver, he looked over at you while wearing a teasing smirk.

“You okay?” he asked, feigning concern. Your eyes narrowed for only a fraction of a second before you answered.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He was so proud of the effect he was having on you. That alone was evident by the look on his face. His twisted little grin grew into a full smile, and he licked his lips before turning back to Sebastian. They fell right back into their conversation, and Chris returned to his ministrations beneath the table.

Damn Chris. God _fucking_ damn him. He was being a dirty fucking tease and he _knew_ it. When he gave your thigh a hard pinch, your knee jerked up, nailing the underside of the table. You let out a sharp squeak and hoped that it went unheard. When your eyes darted to Seb, he looked none the wiser. But Chris, the little shit, had a wicked look in his eye for only a fraction of a second. The absent-minded rubbing continued on, soothing the achy, surely red spot that he’d created.

He made it quite clear that he was in the mood to play games with you, and so fucking help you, he was _not_ going to win. You subtly slipped your hand beneath the tabletop and rested your hand up towards the top of his thigh. Occasionally, your knuckles bumped against his half hard bulge, and he’d accidentally stutter in his responses.

And it didn’t stop there. Throughout the night, he kept at his game. He’d make a move, you’d counter. It was a back-and-forth cycle that would’ve had you in a puddle on the floor if not for the fact that there were so many people around.

When Renner started his rendition of Hall and Oates’ ‘Private Eyes’, Chris had repositioned himself to splay his legs a little further apart, accommodating his growing hardness. He kept ducking his head down to your ear whenever he spoke, allowing the coarse hairs along his lower jaw to brush against your neck. As soon as he was sure no one would notice, he’d lean in closer and nibble at your earlobe. His long fingers gave your upper thigh a squeeze, his pinky resting in the groove where your thigh met your hip.

“Still doin’ alright?” His voice was dangerously low, teetering on the fine line between business and bedroom. You waited for him to draw back before leaning up to his ear.

“Doing just fine,” you sighed temptingly, nipping the bolt of his jaw. He hissed harshly, kneading the heel of his palm against you. The tips of his fingers curled in, pressing deep into your skin. You were almost certain there would be bruises there later, but _god_ , it was well worth it.

Somewhere between Mackie’s ‘It’s Tricky’ and Sebastian’s ‘Rebel Yell’, you’d lost the upper hand. Chris had managed to pull one of your legs over his lower thigh. His touched went from teasing to being needy, desperate. He was fully hard by that point – painfully so, if his expression was anything to go on – and the pressure of your knee against the strained denim was doing him no favors. The moves he’s chosen to make had gotten bolder, even going so far as to sneak a few kisses in. Dangerous game to play in public, but Chris didn’t seem to care.

“Lace?” he asked with a look of pleasant surprise when his knuckles grazed your panties. You made a show of biting the inside of your lip before looking up at him through your lashes. _Oh god_ , this was getting to him. When you nodded slightly, his hand tensed a little. Sighing through his nose, he tilted his head back. “You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here… S’not fair. S’not fair at all.”

That just served to widen your smirk and darken your intentions. His game may have started out seemingly innocent, but it most definitely would not end that way.

At the end of Scarlett’s version of Fiona Apple’s ‘Criminal’, you were both almost completely done for. Chris’ face and neck were flushed. Your hand was pressed into his length, squeezing at odd intervals until his breath was hitching.

“Fuck. Stop, stop… Please,” he’d whispered. It was so breathless, airy. “You’re gonna make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager, and I’m not gonna have a choice but to bend you over this table and fuck some manners into you.”

That. That made you stop. You froze. A much stronger heat pooled between your thighs, and it took every ounce of self-restraint you possessed not to drop to your knees beneath the table and suck him off. It took you a moment to gather your bearings, but when you did, you brazenly gave him a tighter squeeze than before and bit at his collar bone, muttering back a soft ‘yes please’.

He growled. Literally fucking _growled_ at you, telling you that the two of you needed to leave immediately. With a quirked eyebrow and a haughty grin, you simply asked, “My hotel or yours?”

 

*

 

The cab ride back to your hotel was simultaneously too long and not long enough. In the back seat, you were like two high school kids on their first date: all teeth and tongues, making out like you didn’t care who was watching. Neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. You swore under your breath that if it took much longer, you’d let him have you right then and there, consequences be damned. He just chuckled, shook his head, and told you to be patient.

From the cab to the elevator, everything was a blur. All you knew was that it was on the furthest side of the grand lobby, and it made for a decent walk. Chris had his hand tucked into yours, leading you eagerly enough that it was hard to keep pace. But even with his long legs and you in heels, you were less than half a step behind him the whole way.

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Chris had you pinned to the wall, mouth attacking your throat and fingertips dancing up under your skirt. They hooked in the elastic of your panties, and in one swift motion, he had them down around your ankles. You’d barely even stepped out of them when Chris scooped them up and stuffed them in his pocket. His fingers dipped between your folds, teasing a line from your clit to your entrance and back. At the first touch, he groaned low in the back of his throat.

“Floor number, baby,” he sighed, returning his mouth to your neck. “If we don’t get to your room quick, I’m gonna have to take you right here.”

“Now who’s impatient,” you murmured back, leaning over to push the button marked with ‘貳拾叁/23’.

Chris paid no mind to your smart remark, instead opting to ease his middle finger into you. You gasped at the very welcomed intrusion, gripping his forearm tightly. He began to pump it in and out of you torturously slowly, whispering in your ear, “This all for me?”

Suddenly speechless, you nodded, tilting your head back against the wall.

“S’drippin’ down your thighs, sweetheart,” he cooed, biting down on the front of your throat and adding a second finger. “I’m gonna lick it all off as soon as we get upstairs.”

_Now who was killing whom, Mr. Evans?_

With limited time and the potential to be caught at any second, Chris wasted no time bringing you to your first orgasm of the night. The pad of his thumb was rubbing firm but gentle circles around your clit while those two fingers (and the third he added just moments before he took you apart) moved at an almost punishing pace. You couldn’t hold back all the whimpers and sighs and moans bubbling up from your throat.

You could just tell by the look on his face that he was so pleased with himself when he felt your body tense and clench around his fingers. He took a few seconds, just listening to your ragged breaths, waiting for you to come back down from your high. As soon as you opened your eyes, he looked directly into them and brought his hand to his mouth. One by one, he licked and sucked each of his fingers clean, never looking away and hardly blinking.

“Definitely gotta get my mouth on ya,” he announced as soon as he popped his index finger out of his mouth. “Way too sweet to waste.”

There was a smart rebuttal about your turn to taste him, but it died on your lips as soon as the elevator doors dinged. Chris, ever the gentleman, smoothed out your skirt when he realized that it was not your floor that it had stopped on. An older gentleman stepped into the lift, you could tell by the familiar smell of his cologne. He was completely blocked from your view by Chris, who wasn’t about to move even a fraction of an inch away from you – partially because he looked like he wanted to devour you and partially because he was using his proximity to shield his raging hard-on from the man.

As the elevator resumed its climb, Chris’ mouth hovered over yours. He leaned in for a slow-burning kiss, lasting just long enough for you to taste yourself on his tongue. His hands came to rest on your hips, fingertips digging in to show you he wasn’t done with you yet. Not even in the slightest…

When a ding sounded the second time, it _was_ your floor. Chris was quick to press his hand to the small of your back and guide you out, bidding the man a good evening. You were nearly out of earshot already by the time the man responded in kind.

Halfway down the hall, you pulled Chris to a stop. The key card went in easily enough, and no sooner than you’d stepped over the threshold, he had you shoved up against the door. His lips returned to yours with new fervor, tongue flitting against the roof of your mouth. You reacted accordingly, waiting for him to move back a just a hair so you could catch his lower lip between your teeth. The bite was not gentle at all, so you suckled at the angry flesh, laving your tongue over the fresh indents. A sharp, pleased hiss left his mouth, and he pulled away slowly.

“Strip,” he commanded firmly. When you complied, there was a feral hunger in his eyes. He watched you peel your clothes off like a lion stalking its prey, and in that moment, you felt like he’d eat you alive. You wanted it. _God_ , you fucking wanted it. The feeling of his sweat-slicked skin against yours, hips grinding into yours, filling you until you’re sure that he’ll split you in half. You wanted the sound of his heavy breaths, his lust-laden words flooding your ears. You wanted to taste him, and you wanted him to taste you. You wanted to see just how much he stretched you, the dark red lines across his back from your nails, the way he’d look staring down at you while he fucked into you as hard as he could, as deep as your body allowed… It was already impossible for you to take your eyes off of him.

As soon as your skirt hit the floor, Chris was on his knees. He grabbed the back of one of yours and hitched it over his shoulder while pressing kisses just over where you wanted his mouth most. His shallow breaths hit your skin, making your immediate instinct to grab a fistful of his hair and try to guide him exactly where you needed him. He just looked up at you, hunger replaced by an almost innocent doe-eyed stare. Teasing. He was fucking teasing you again. Using your grip on his head to keep him still, you ground forward just a little, and he took the hint.

Still looking you in the eye, he opened his mouth and sealed it over your clit. The feeling of his teeth caught you by surprise, but he didn’t bite down, instead brushing his tongue over that engorged bundle of nerves. After maybe half a minute of such beautiful torture, you felt his beard scratching at your skin before you felt his tongue begin to circle your entrance, fucking into you every few rounds. Then he went all in, burying his face between your parted thighs. His movements fell into an erratic pattern, unpredictable and wild. The neatly trimmed hairs lining his jaw left a few spots where your swollen skin was rubbed raw. That was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but for now, all you wanted was more. More of him.

You hadn’t noticed that you were grinding into him, whimpering, begging, screaming for more, until Chris pulled back and his big blue eyes met yours. The hand that had been holding your knee ran back to squeeze your ass cheek hard, his blunt nails digging in. His other hand slid up your thigh, over your hip, where he laced his fingers between yours.

“Chris, I-I… Fuck, I need more,” you whispered, giving his hair a loving tug. He grunted at the feeling, humming with disagreement. You caught sight of his mouth: spit-slick and shining from the reflection of light beneath the door. His tongue darted out, chasing the taste of you.

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, beautiful.” With that, he went right back to work. Alternating between long, languid strokes and quick flicks, he bounced back and forth from your hole to your clit. There was no way in hell he was gonna give you an easy out, and you could already feel your body on the verge of giving up. Your knees were starting to shake, muscles beginning to spasm and tense. Chris must have noticed, because a soft mutter of ‘let it go, babe’ was lost between your thighs, and that was all you needed to hear. Your hold on his hair tightened once more as he pushed you into your second climax in less than an hour, so much more intensely earth-shattering than the first.

After guiding your lifted leg back to the floor, Chris climbed to his feet oh so slowly, never once letting go of your hand. He wiped his mouth with the back of his free hand and licked his lips. Giving you a wicked grin, he leaned in just close enough for his lower lip to touch your top.

“Wanna taste, baby? You wanna see what you taste like on me?” You nodded eagerly, tacking on a hushed ‘please’ for good measure. That seemed to satisfy him. He closed the gap with a deep, bruising kiss that continued until you had nothing left in your lungs, and then he pulled away, leaving you gasping for air.

The second you parted, he took a few steps back and began stripping off his clothes. Socks and shoes thrown in one direction, t-shirt in another, the room was beginning to look more like a war zone than a hotel room. He worked his belt off, tossing it carelessly behind him, and popped open the button on his pants. You expected to see some sort of crazy patterned undergarment, but you were met only with skin. The reddened head of his cock peeked over the top of his zipper, and knowing very well that you were watching, he took his sweet time pulling said zipper down. You couldn’t help but bite the inside of your lip at the sight, pressing your thighs together for a little relief.

Having kicked the heap of denim away, Chris wrapped his hand around his length, giving it a few particularly hard jerks before slowing to languorous strokes. He was staring you down the whole time, you could feel it. It’s like he was daring you to step closer, to touch him yourself. A drop of precome beaded at the slit, and Chris used his thumb to wipe it away. With those filthy fuck-me eyes locked on you, he crooked his opposite index finger at you, beckoning for you to actually move closer.

You couldn’t have stopped yourself if you wanted to. Three steps was all it took, and he was holding his thumb out to you. Graciously, you took it between your lips, finally getting your first taste of him. Salty, bitter, and your new favorite flavor. Nothing compared to that.

Grabbing his wrist, you gave him a little show. Hollowing your cheeks, light teeth (enough to be felt, but not nearly enough to hurt), swirling your tongue around the tip of his thumb… The slick sound of his fist fucking over his cock got faster, messier, _hotter_ , and you couldn’t take it anymore. You _really_ needed to touch him, to _feel_ him. No more waiting.

Chris was beyond eager to follow you across the pale carpet to the bed. At one point, he landed a sharp, echoing slap on your ass, earning himself a surprised squeak. “Can’t help it,” was his only defense. “I’m an ass man.”

As you instructed him to lie on his back, you watched his proudly standing cock bob with his gait, tip swollen and leaking obscenely. He gave you a two fingered salute and a ‘yes ma’am!’ as he positioned himself perfectly, length falling against his stomach with a wet smack.

Crawling on the bed, you situated yourself in the gap between his knees. Again, you met his eyes. The inky centers of them were blown so wide, it looked like they’d swallowed the blue rings. His brow furrowed as you leaned forward just far enough to run the flat of your tongue over his slit, collecting more precome. Almost like he didn’t process it, Chris reached down, locking his hands around your rib cage.

“No. Any other night, I’d be all for you suckin’ my dick, but not tonight. Been waitin’ so long for this, an’ I need to be inside you _now_.” With that, he hauled you up and over him until your knees were straddling his hips. The night may have started out as his game, but the ball was in your court now, and you had no intention of giving it back.

Your fingers wrapped around his shaft like tendrils, holding it straight up while you leaned back on your haunches. A few uneven pumps and you tilted it towards you, running his tip up and down your slit. If it wasn’t already wet enough from his own arousal, it surely was now that it was covered in yours. You allowed him only two good passes over your clit, and that was enough to have his brows fall just a little lower. His mouth fell wide open, and his eyes pinched shut, creating a crinkle at the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, clutching your hips. “Quit fuckin’ teasin’ me, or ‘m gonna end up blowin’ my load.” Something seductively stern coated his tone of admonishment; something that set your nerves alight. You moved to press his blunt head against your entrance and started to ease yourself down on him. The way your walls stretched to accommodate the width of his cock was almost painful. It definitely _felt_ like he could split you in half. That, or you’d combust from the initial friction. Either way, it’d be certain death, and as long as it was because of him, you were more than willing to accept it.

Once fully seated, body adjusted to the intrusion, you looked down at Chris, waiting for him to give you the okay to move. When he didn’t, you experimentally rolled your hips forward. His eyes shot wide open, his hold on you tightening tenfold.

“Please – ah! Don’t. Don’t move yet.” Oh the irony… It was _his_ turn to beg. “You feel way too fuckin’ good. You move now and I’m fuckin’ done for.”

Chris pulled himself up into a sitting position, stilling any possible movement of your hips with his iron grip. The kiss he placed on your lips was nowhere near what the pace had been the entire night. Instead it was delicate, controlled, like you were made of glass. Deep, sensual, passionate, like he couldn’t get enough.

After what felt like an eternity (in the best possible way), he began to guide your hips back and forth ever so slightly, until you understood what he was trying to tell you. Draping your arms around his neck, you started to work in small circles, gradually widening the rotation until you were grinding in his lap. His mouth parted from yours to pursue a trail of sloppy kisses from just beside your lips to your ear and down your neck until he was sucking bruises into your collar bone.

Starting to bounce unevenly, you could feel every vein, every twitching muscle, every inch of his length sliding in and out of your body. Chris’ hands danced up your sides, moving to gives your breasts a rough squeeze. He pinched and rolled one of your nipples between his fingers, breaking the contact between his lips and your skin.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you?” he asked, voice husky and dark and right beside your ear. “How many times I’ve thought about you just like this?” The only response you could formulate at that point was a pleased whine and an increase in your speed, taking him harder, deeper, faster… “Doin’ so good, babe. So fuckin’ good.”

_Faster, faster, faster. Take him, take all of him. Keep going. Be good for him. Faster, harder, harder. Please him. Give him whatever he wants and then some. Harder, harder, faster. Keep going, keep going. He needs this. He needs you. Keep going. Faster, harder._

Giving his chest a gentle shove, Chris laid back, hands moving to grip your ass while you bounced on his cock. Your nails bit into his chest, leaving bright red lines down the planes of his hard muscle before balancing yourself to give him more. His hands were tensing, and you knew he was close before he even said it.

“Close… ‘m close. Fuck, ‘m gonna…”One of his hands retreated to the apex of your thighs, the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit again and rubbing it unsteadily. It was too much. Too intense, too much stimulation, still feeling the aftershocks from your previous orgasms. It was mind-numbing, but still _so so good_. “Kiss me,” he muttered, pulling your head down to him and biting at your lip. “Like kissin’ when I come.”

You felt his cock jump and jerk against your walls, followed by a stream of warmth painting your insides. That in and of itself toppled you over, making your stomach convulse as your muscles clenched around him, pulsing, milking him for all he had. A scream of ecstasy sounded around you, and for a second you weren’t sure it had even been yours.

You were so far gone, lost in the throes of pleasure, that you didn’t even realize you’d collapsed on his chest. You felt like your bones were made of rubber, and if it were for him holding on to you, you were almost certain you’d be on the floor by now. Your mind was drifting up into the sky, and briefly, you questioned whether or not you were even still alive. There was no doubt this man would be the death of you, but you didn’t quite think it’d come so soon.

“Doin’ okay? Still with me?” Chris asked softly, stroking a hand down your spine. You let your forehead drop into the crook of his neck, sweat making it stick. His voice was sickly sweet, dipped in affection, dripping with adoration, sprinkled with slight concern. “Gotta answer me, sweetheart. C’mon. Out loud.”

“Mmhmm…” you hummed back, throat raw.

“What do you need? Want me to lay you down?” You shook your head as best you could manage, still trying to navigate your way down.

“You’re not leaving yet, are you?” you muttered. It really didn’t even sound like it was you talking at that point. Your voice was so hoarse, crackling like a fire beneath the weight of your syllables. Chris chuckled, sounding almost as rough as you.

“Nah, baby. ‘M not leavin’. I’ll stay right here as long as you let me.”

He must’ve meant it, because an hour and a half later, when the high had worn off, Chris was still beneath you. His arms were still draped over you, and he was still running his fingertips up and down your back and playing with your hair. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken, barely even blinked until he asked, “You need to drink something, babe. Is it okay if I go get you some water?”

You nodded, still not sure if you were even capable of making noise.

The mattress shifted as Chris moved to lay you on your side. At some point between his climax and now, he’d managed to pull out of you, and you whined at the thought of the emptiness. He pressed a chaste kiss on your lips, reminding you that he was only going to get you some water and he’d be right back. You could hear his soft retreating footfalls as he crossed the floor. Vaguely, you could hear the water come on in the sink, and then his returning steps. Again, the mattress dipped.

You sat up, and he offered you the little plastic cup, waiting for you to take it before he slid under the covers. You got the water down in one fell swallow and tossed the cup away, unsure of where it landed, but it definitely hit the floor. Chris curled his arm around you, pulling you to lay your head on his chest. One of your hands followed, and one of his wrapped around it.

“That was fuckin’ incredible,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “Didn’t think anything could feel that good.” His hand returned to its deliberate dancing, and the two of you fell back into silence for a while. Occasionally, Chris would pepper you with cute little pecks or he’d shiver slightly at the feeling of your eyelashes brushing against his skin. One thing on the endless list of things you loved about Chris was the fact that you could be so comfortable with him without words. In the same turn, you were somewhat grateful that the silence didn’t last too much longer.

“You still awake?” Had your ear not been against him, feeling the vibrations of his gravelly tone, you might not have even heard him.

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, nodded. Honestly, you were so fucking exhausted. Physically drained, emotionally wrecked in the best way, and for some ungodly reason, you were still awake.

“Y’know, I feel like the luckiest sonuvabitch in the world right now. Well, I shouldn’t insult my mother like that. I’m the luckiest _guy_ in the world right now. I mean, bein’ here right now with you, havin’ the night we’ve had… I’m ramblin’ now, huh? Guess I’d better get to the point. I know this isn’t the best time to bring it up but… You know I meant what I said in last night, right?” he asked nervously, toying with your fingers. “About wantin’ t’be with you? ‘Cause I do. Have for a while now, actually. An’ if tonight’s anything to go by, I’m thinkin’ you wanna be with me, too. Whaddya say? Wanna give this a chance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be gentle with me; I've never written full smut before and I'm fucking terrified.  
> That being said, comments are appreciated<3


	12. L - Latibule

**latibule** – _noun_

\- a hiding place; a place of safety and comfort

* * *

 

 

 

As Geoffrey Chaucer once said, all good things must come to an end. You were incredibly reluctant to leave your bed the next morning, especially with Chris still out cold beside you. A breathy snore accompanied every rise of his bare chest while an almost inaudible hiss matched the fall, all passing through his just barely parted lips. His thick lashes were fanned out across his the skin beneath his eyes. All the color had finally returned to his face, pink high on his cheeks. He looked perfect, peaceful, and frankly, so fucking precious. You couldn’t remember a time in your life that you’d seen something that really melted your heart like that.

Carefully, you peeled the covers off your legs and crawled out of bed, being oh so careful not to wake him. Avoiding the piles of clothes like landmines, you managed to creep quietly into the bathroom. After swallowing down a small cup of water, you took a quick shower, scrubbing all the sweat (and various other things) off your skin. Before the water had a chance to run cold, you shut it off and stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself.

A blanket of condensation coated the mirror, fogging it up. You weren’t sure if it was purely out of habit, but you reached up and wiped away just enough to see your own face in the reflection. Dark purple bites and bruises littered your neck and shoulders. You figured you’d end up chastising him for it later, but that would definitely be hypocritical. He was marked up just as much as you were, if not more. His chest had taken the brunt of it, spattered with hickies, bites, deep red claw marks from your nails. The two of you had unarguably done quite a number on each other, and nowhere in your mind was there even a morsel of remorse.

Grounding you again, drawing you back from your plane of lost thoughts, was a pair of arms. They found their way around your hips, pulling you back gently into a firm body.

“Mmm… Mornin’, girlfriend,” Chris muttered into the curve of your neck, kissing you sweetly. You could feel his kind smile against your skin as you draped your hands over his. The ends of his messy mop of hair flopped forward, dancing across the back of your neck. He planted a few more pecks on the other side of your neck before you turned in his arms, pressing your towel-clad chest to his. Your arms curled up around his neck. Somewhat unexpectedly, Chris moved forward, pressing his forehead to yours. The tip of your nose bumped his a couple times before he leaned in to catch your bottom lip between his. He gave it the smallest nip and suck, and then stole an actual kiss, no longer than a few seconds. Before pulling back too far, he whispered just loud enough for you to hear, “I’m so fuckin’ lucky.”

You stole a quick peck of your own and looked down bashfully, still so unused to his constant praise. Heat rose high on your cheeks. Chris chuckled and tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear. You slid your hands down to his chest, the tips of your fingers tracing over the words inked just beneath his collar bone. Of the handful of tattoos he had, that one was probably your favorite. The quote itself was beautiful, very inspiring. But the fact that the quote was permanently on his skin made it even more beautiful. Unimaginably so – maybe even unfairly so.

“You wanna jump in the shower with me?” Chris asked gently, kissing your temple. You leaned back a little, finding those striking blue eyes staring mirthfully at you. A grin tugged at the corner of his lips, and it only grew when you gestured to your already-wet hair.

“Little bit late on that one, Evans.”

“But you didn’t invite me!” he whined, bouncing his arms around like a child throwing a tantrum without them ever actually leaving you. “Kinda offended here, babe. That’s a thing couples should do _together_. It’s our first day, and you’re already blowin’ it!”

“You’re wearing too much for a shower anyways,” you cut back, tugging the elastic on his boxers. It snapped against his skin with a loud pop, and you felt him jump a little at the sound. But in a conversely daring move, Chris hooked his thumbs through the band. He pushed them lower, lower, lower, until they were pooled around his ankles. Carelessly, he kicked them away.

“Now who’s overdressed? C’mon, sugar! I’m givin’ you a chance to make things right… ‘sides, you can’t resist this, remember?” He gestured to his now fully-bared body, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Christopher, you are trouble,” you admonished, giving in and taking half a step back to discard your towel. Chris let out a low whistle of appreciation, wasting no time in reeling you back into him.

“Let’s get that pretty little ass in the shower now, shall we?” Punctuating his question with an apt tap on swell of your backside, he gestured to the shower stall, water now running. Nothing more to say, you stepped in. Chris followed so closely behind that you could feel his breath on your neck.

The two of you spent close to an hour underneath the spray of the showerhead. You lathered up Chris’ chest and shoulders while he washed his hair and his back while he rinsed. Once he was done, as thanks, he kissed you slowly, deeply, like he’d never get to kiss you again. He held your dripping body against his, cradling you in his arms until the water began to run a few degrees cooler than before.

“Let’s get outta here,” Chris grumbled against yours lips, his curving into a smirk. “You’re startin’ t’look like a fuckin’ raisin.”

Once he shut the faucet off, he took care in drying your skin delicately, like you were made of porcelain and he was afraid you’d crack. After he’d dried himself, Chris scooped you up – one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back – and carried you back to bed. He flopped down on the mattress, bringing you along with him. You adjusted until you were lying halfway on him, just as you’d done the night before. Resting your head and a hand against his chest, one knee falling between his, he kept one arm beneath your neck. The other hand traced nonsense patterns on the skin of your hip.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you. His steady breathing and balanced heart beats were almost enough to lull you back to sleep, but something about the tension thrumming throughout his body wouldn’t let you. He was anxious, evident by the lines of worry etched into his face, and yet he obviously didn’t think you’d notice.

“Chris?” you asked softly, running your fingers over the words in his skin again. He hummed, opening one eye to look at you.

“Yeah, gorgeous?”

“What’s on your mind?” He drew a sharp breath, and you could hear a mild wheeze in his lungs.

“Lotsa things…” He trailed off, but with your patient silence, he continued. “I’m still waiting to wake up, really. This whole situation, it doesn’t feel real to me. You’re real, though. You’re real, and you’re here, and you’re mine. So if this _is_ a dream, I don’t want to wake up, because it’s the best dream I’ve ever had.”

A tear slid off your cheek, falling on Chris’ chest with a weak plop. Words burned at the back of your throat, itching to come out, and you damn near told him then and there that you loved him. It was way too soon for that. Way, way too soon.

“My, uh… My ma’s been on my ass for months now, tryin’ to get me to make a move. Y’know, show you how I feel before some other putz waltzes in and steals you away. Then I saw you with Tom and realized she was right.” His voice was wobbly, unstable, and it cracked on the word ‘right’. It sounded like he was on the verge of tears himself, but when you looked up, you saw his eyes were focused on the ceiling. He squeezed his arms around you tighter, holding you as close as humanly possible. “And here we are. Been thinkin’ about this for a long time, and now it’s real. But things aren’t gonna be easy for us. There’s already a lot of media speculation around us. We’ll be on opposite sides of the country most of the time. Our filming schedules won’t always line up, and… I just don’t wanna be away from you.”

Well, fuck it all if _that_ wasn’t a punch to the gut. You were so caught up in everything happening between you and Chris that you’d forgotten that this was almost over. Two more days and everything would go back to the way it was. The two of you would go back to the States, parting to your respective coasts, and you would hardly get to see him. He was slated to begin filming Infinity War. You, on the other hand, only had a small part and wouldn’t be required until November at the earliest. Not only that, but you’d already signed on for two upcoming projects: one starting in early fall, the other in mid-winter.

You remembered just how difficult it was for you to let him leave when you landed at LAX after filming wrapped. Standing in the baggage claim, watching him walk towards the doors, that damn near broke your heart because all you wanted was just a little bit longer with him. But now, things were different: you could finally call him yours, and honestly, you didn’t want to be away from him either.

“I’m not going to bail on you just because things get tough, honey.” For all the emotions you had bashing into each other inside your head, your tone remained strangely even and reassuring. Inside, you felt like you were a crumbling pillar, but Chris needed to lean on that pillar for the moment, and you’d be damned if you’d let him down. “We’ll find a way to make this work. It’ll be crazy and hectic, and we may not get tons of time together, but we’ll do what we have to. If that means I have to fly across the country to go have lunch with you, then so be it.”

He managed to choke out your name, sniffling shortly. It was followed by a soft ‘ _c’mere_ ’, and he moved to cradle the back of your head with his palm, slotting his mouth against yours in a desperate, needy kiss. Your fingers came up, holding his lower jaw tenderly, showing him that, _yes_ , you meant every word. The tip of your finger ran over a streak of wetness through his beard, and when you realized that had actually been a tear of his own, that itch in your throat returned, this time much more intense. Seeing Chris so vulnerable after all the control he’d exhibited in front of you made you _want_ to say those words. If it hadn’t been for you upping the intensity of the kiss, you _would’ve_ said it.

You could feel his brow furrowing as he pressed his forehead to yours. Chris wound both of his hands into your hair, silently pleading with his grip for you not to stop. Kiss the air from his lungs, kiss the negativity from his mind, kiss away the knots in his stomach…

It could’ve stayed that way for minutes or hours, you weren’t quite sure. But finally, he pulled back; chest heaving and eyes scrunched shut. It wasn’t until the tip of your thumb traced his lower lip that his eyes opened, and he had the sweetest little smile on his face. His voice had gone a bit hoarse, throat probably dry. He chuckled against yours lips, insisting, “I swear to God, ‘m not leavin’ your side again until we get back. For the next 48 hours, it’s just gonna be me an’ you.”

 

*

 

He stayed true to his word. That man was stuck to you like glue (not that you minded) for two straight days. Chris may or may not have bribed Sebastian to switch junket partners with him for the day, like two second graders swapping lunch items. Honestly, you weren’t quite sure if you or Scarlett had technically been the pudding cup, but if it meant spending the day with Chris, you didn’t really care.

Immediately following, the entire lot of you were whisked away to prepare for the premiere. Chris was adamant that you get ready at his hotel. Partially because he was keeping his promise, but mostly because he wanted to be the one to zip your dress for you. Said it was his duty as your boyfriend to do such trivial things, but also mentioned that it may have been because he wanted to sneak a peek down the back of your dress as well. His only defense?

“What? I just wanted to see if you had anything on under it!”

He kept you nearby on the walk down the red carpet, posing frequently with his hand against the small of your back, but occasionally falling a few steps behind to avoid looking too conspicuous. Once inside, Chris started getting sucked into chats with practically everyone. Subtly, he’d managed to guide you into most of his conversations, almost using you as an out for his anxiety. Somewhere between the carpet and the lobby, he’d told you that you always make him feel better, that it’s easier for him to relax with you around. That’s why he was never more than an arm’s length away at any given moment.

During the premiere itself, Chris made sure that you sat right beside him. Not the row behind him, not a handful of seats down, not even with one seat separating you, but in the seat directly to his left. As soon as the lights began to dim, he grabbed your hand. He laced his fingers between yours, and he didn’t let go until the end of the credits. The two of you even shared snacks. For the first half of the movie, Chris would throw a handful of popcorn at Mackie and boo just quiet enough for him to hear every time Sam Wilson appeared on screen. Needless to say, it happened about every two minutes. When it came to the final fight, the one with your kissing scene, Chris leaned over and whispered in your ear, “This is my favorite part.”

After the lights came up, the two of you mingled at the after party for an hour or so before taking separate cabs at different times and meeting up back at your hotel room. You spent the remainder of the night curled up in bed, tangled in Chris’ arms.

“You’re comin’ with us tomorrow, right?” he asked quietly, peppering the back of your shoulder with tiny, light kisses. You nodded.

“Of course,” you replied, snuggling back into him. He tightened his grip on your hips and smiled, leaving a few more pecks on the side of your neck, trailing up until he hit that spot right behind your ear.

“Good. We’ve got some silly tourist kinda shit to do.”

The following morning, the two of you did just that. Marvel had scheduled an extra day for the cast to visit the Forbidden City, and that was exactly where you found yourself. You were standing in front of the Gate of Supreme Harmony, Chris on one side, Seb on the other. Scarlett and Anthony were half a step behind you, and Jeremy was about three steps ahead. The rest of your co-stars were either already inside the Hall of Supreme Harmony or hadn’t yet arrived.

Sebastian had stopped you both before heading through to the Hall in favor of a selfie. The three of you bunched in together, all fitting into the frame, and put on your widest, goofiest grins. You were in the middle with both of their heads tilted to lie on top of yours. This picture was definitely going to be on every single social media outlet within seconds of Seb posting it, so you made sure that he sent it to you before it went online. You took to Instagram, posting it minutes after with the caption: “Forbidden City with my boys! Aren’t they adorable?”

Honestly, there wasn’t a better way you could’ve pictured this. Being sandwiched between your two favorite guys (don’t tell Tom!) in a city on the other side of the world, promoting a fantastic film that you’d all poured every ounce of your hearts and souls into. If this wasn’t Heaven, it was definitely the next best thing.

“Babe,” Chris muttered just low enough for you to hear, nudging you with his elbow. Your group had begun to move forward again, and Chris was staring at his map. He pointed to a building. “Wanna go to the Hall of Abstinence and make out?”

“Pretty sure that’s _not_ what it’s for, Christopher,” you admonished with an arched eyebrow.

“You’re feisty this morning. I think I like that a little more than I should.” The wink and suggestive waggle of his eyebrows earned him a swat on the arm, and he just chuckled before putting his hand against the small of your back and guiding you gently towards the Hall.

After an exhausting six hours running amok with what you could only describe as thirty- and forty-something year old children, it was decided unanimously to call it a day. Everyone had sore legs, sore faces from smiling so much, and in Paul’s case, a sore arm from a nasty fall _up_ the stairs. You were all gathered on benches outside the gate awaiting the return of your appointed shuttles. Chris had his head in your lap, Sebastian had his head on your shoulder, and Scarlett, who sat behind you, was resting her forehead against the back of your neck.

When you were certain none of them were paying much attention, you managed to capture a picture of the four of you. Per the usual, it went up on Instagram.

“Nothing cuter than two sleepy super soldiers and a napping master assassin...”

 

*

 

When you landed at LAX, Kat was waiting to pick you up. After a twenty-hour flight (and a four hour layover), you were completely drained and in no condition to really think straight. She helped you gather your luggage from the baggage claim and the two of you hauled it out to the car. Everything was thrown haphazardly into the trunk. You got in on your respective side, and fastened your seatbelt across your body.

“Doing okay?” she asked softly, securing her seatbelt as well. You nodded slowly, closing your eyes for a moment. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?”

You didn’t answer. Kat knew you better than you knew yourself, so _of course_ she’d know when you’re lying. Letting out a heavy sigh, you muttered, “Yeah, I know.”

“Talk to me about it, then.” You really didn’t mean to, but in a way, you just sort of lost it. Everything came out so fast. You told her about Paris, how Chris and Sebastian schemed to protect you from the media attack she’d called your agent about. You told her about London, about Chris and Tom, about your argument with Tom before the end of the evening, about Chris showing up a little tipsy at your hotel and telling you how he felt. You told her about Beijing, everything from karaoke to having sex with Chris. She now knew that you were officially dating Chris (which you made her swear on her life she wouldn’t tell anyone), and she knew about how much it hurt you to have to part ways with him.

It was only for two weeks. Two weeks and you’d be in Cleveland. You kept telling yourself that, but it didn’t make it any easier. Chris was spending that time in Boston with his family, and a part of you felt so selfish for wanting him by your side instead. It stemmed from getting to spend so much time with him. Every little thing he did just made you fall that much more in love with him. He always held the doors for you, refused to let you pay for anything that Marvel wasn’t already covering, sassed you over the stupidest things… He was constantly making you laugh, making you smile. He’d even made you cry a few times. Some from laughing too hard, some from just being so happy with him.

And if that all wasn’t enough to completely steal your heart, his reaction to a little girl at your hotel sealed the deal completely.

_“Captain America! Captain America! Wait for me!” Chris pulled to a stop, still clutching your hand, and looked back. A small child, probably around 5 or 6 years old, it looked as if she was dragging her mother across the lobby as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. Her rosy cheeks were puffed up in determination, and when she finally reached the two of you, she planted her feet firmly and shook her hand until her mom let go. On her toes, she was bouncing up and down like a miniature pogo stick, grinning like mad at the two of you. “Hi. My name’s Morgan.”_

_Her mother smiled apologetically, folding her arms over her chest. Chris crouched down to Morgan’s level and stuck his hand out to her. “Hey, Morgan. I’m Steve. It’s very nice to meet you.”_

_Her tiny hand wrapped around his as best it could, and you could see her mother’s expression soften a little. Chris has a disarmingly charming smile on his face, as wide as the Nile. It was one of those genuine ear-to-ear smiles, the kind most people were never lucky enough to see in person._

_“You’re my favorite, did you know that?” Morgan chirped, raising an eyebrow at Chris. He chuckled and shook his head._

_“Am I really? Wow, that’s really flattering! Thank you!” Morgan covered her face with both hands and just giggled._

_“Do you mind if I get a quick picture?” Her mother’s voice was soft, clear, and just barely reached your ears. Chris nodded enthusiastically, but quickly held up a finger. He scooped Morgan up in his arms, positioning her on his knee so that they were both looking at her mother’s phone. You stepped aside, watching from beside the taller woman as she snapped the most adorable picture. To get a better look, you took Chris’ sunglasses off, tucking one of the temple pieces inside the collar of your shirt._

You glanced down at the screen of your phone, looking at your new lock screen. It was a silly picture of you, Chris, and Morgan that her mother had been kind enough to take for you, especially after finding out that you were also in Captain America: Civil War.

“No, but seriously, can we go inside now?” Kat’s voice interrupted, as did her hand, which flew up to gesture at your apartment building. You were so zoned out that you didn’t even realize you’d gotten home.

Instead of acknowledging her questioning gaze, you just nodded. “Yeah, sorry.”

The two of you got out of the car and rounded to the trunk, taking out the suitcases and carry-ons.

“You’re gonna have to tell me how you managed to get your smokin’ hot co-stars to fall asleep on your like that. Might need to pull that trick later.”

After lugging all of your bags upstairs, you were greeted at your door with the last thing you expected. In a tall crystal vase sat a dozen red roses at least. There was a white ribbon tied around the neck, and sticking out of the middle was a plastic stand with a small envelope. You already had an idea of what was inside, and you couldn’t help but smile and shake your head a little. Setting your stuff down and plucking the envelope up, you pulled the back flap up and pulled the card out.

_‘It’s only been a few hours, and I miss you already… See you in Cleveland, beautiful!_

_\- Mr. E’_

Inwardly, you sighed. _Oh, Christopher… You smooth little devil._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated!<3


	13. M - Melliloquent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at the halfway point! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story<3

**melliloquent** – _adjective_

\- speaking sweetly or harmoniously

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

You hadn’t been this nervous in a long time. The muscles in your fingers twitched anxiously, itching to find something to do other than scroll through your Twitter feed. There were about a billion other things that you’d rather be doing right now, but a promise is a promise. You’d given Andy your word that you would meet with him, and that’s what led you to a small coffee shop on the upper end of town. It had only been a week since you got home, but you’d honestly been dreading this since you got received the text message.

Every time the bell over the door would ring, you’d look up, half expecting so see Andy. After probably close to the twentieth time the damn thing dinged, it actually _was_ him. He caught sight of you and waved. You gave him a meek two-fingered wave in return, and he held up a finger, gesturing to the counter. A quick nod from you and he was off to order his drink. There was a load of files tucked into the ditch of his elbow. Was that what he wanted to talk to you about? Did it have to do with those papers?

Once he got his drink, Andy made his way to the table you’d strategically selected. It was far enough away from other customers that no one should be able to overhear the conversation, away from the shop’s big from window to avoid any possible paparazzi issues, but still close enough to the front door that you could leave without drawing much attention. He settled into the seat across from you, laying his bundle of manila folders on the tabletop. The way the wood scraped across the tile as he scooted his chair in gave you a chill, sounding more like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” he said softly, giving you a small smile. You nodded curtly, crossing your legs and taking a sip of your coffee. A tight-lipped, thin smile was all you could muster. Andy dropped a hand into his lap. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to see you, huh?”

Again, you nodded. It’s not like the two of you had an amicable split. You didn’t hate him, nor did you bear any ill will towards him, but he wasn’t exactly someone you’d willingly seek out to spend time with.

“First things first, I wanted to apologize.” You didn’t quite know what you were expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it. There must have been a hint of confusion on your face. “For the whole thing with our break-up being leaked to the media. I’m sure you already figured it out, that it was Tori’s doing. She’s… I left, and she’s angry with me. But there’s no reason that her childish tantrum should’ve reached you. Her petty behavior shouldn’t have any effect on you. I’m so sorry that you were dragged into this, but I hope you know I had nothing to do with it.”

“I know,” you reassured.

“That being said,” he continued, like you hadn’t said anything at all. “There _is_ something else. Now, before you say no, I would like you to really consider this… I’m directing a new film at the end of next month, and we’ve still yet to cast our lead actress. After discussing it with my casting directors, we all agreed that you’d be perfect for the role. I figured it’d be better to offer it in person than over the phone.”

Another thing you definitely weren’t expecting… He was offering you a job? After everything the two of you did to each other, the awful things you said to each other at the end? Well, color you somewhat impressed. It took a big man to make moves and take risks like this, and that wasn’t at all the Andy you used to know. Perhaps he had somewhat grown as a person since becoming a father.

Contemplatively, you took another sip of your coffee. You had a lot of downtime until Marvel would call you in for Infinity War. Seven months, to be exact. On top of that, you were already signed on for two new movies set to film later in the year, and a handful of guest spots on various television shows. That left you from now until at least July without much to do.

“And I know you have you doubts when it comes to working with me. Believe me; I wouldn’t want to work with me either, if I were you. Especially after everything you’ve gone through because of me. But if it’s any consolation, Sebastian Stan has signed on as the male lead. Here…” He passed one of the folders across the table. The tab at the top had a little paper label on it, with ‘Jamie Bates’ printed in bold black letters. “Read through the script; take some time to think about it. I’ll be in town until Thursday, and my casting directors are adamant that I get an answer as soon as possible, or they’ll go ahead and cast the role without me. Just shoot me a text when you make a decision, okay?”

“Okay.” The resignation in your tone almost made it sound like you were already agreeing to take the role. You kicked yourself mentally a little, but luckily, Andy either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“I hate to cut this so short, but I have a meeting to get to. Like I said, I really appreciate you meeting with me. You really didn’t have to. It’s been wonderful to see you again,” he commented, smiling kindly and pushing his chair out. “Hopefully it won’t be so long until we see each other again. I’ve missed being around you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” you replied. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

He lifted his hand, giving you a small wave which you returned. Once he’d retreated through the doorway, you picked up your cup and the folder and headed home.

Settling into your favorite chair in your living room, you began to flip through the script. Every line of dialogue or action was highlighted in a vibrant pink and preceded by the name ‘Jamie’. Admittedly, it was a pretty solid script. The dialogue was witty, riveting, but still realistic. The actions depicted were very fluid, plot well –crafted and thoughtfully laid out. Your only issue lied within the fact that it was a genre you’d never attempted before: horror. This would honestly be such a huge step for you, and it definitely brought about a bit of concern. What if you couldn’t pull it off?

Before you thought on it for too long, you grabbed your phone and punched in Chris’ number. If there was anyone in the world who would help you sort through all this, it was him. It began to ring, and just after the third, you heard his cheerful voice on the other end of the line.

“Hey, gorgeous!” he chirped right away.

“Chris, hey!” you answered. “How are you? How’s Boston?”

“Boston’s great! Weather’s been nice, whole family’s here. Scott flew in from L.A. last night, my uncle’s out back grillin’. So my ma’s pretty happy to have everyone home, and if she’s happy, I’m happy.” Chris was such a sappy mama’s boy, and you absolutely loved it. It was so damn sweet! “Only way this could get any better s’if you were here with us.”

 _Us_. Not ‘here with _me_ ’, not just ‘ _here_ ’, but ‘here with _us_ ’. Your heart leapt at the thought of that. That was his entire world in a nutshell: his family. Chris loved them with every fiber of his being, and maybe you were just reading too much into it, but his tone sounded almost like he wanted you to meet them…

“That sounds like blast.” Chris chuckled, and you could just see him nodding a little.

“It’d be a lot more fun if I weren’t missin’ you so much.” A hint of disappointment crept into his voice, but it lightened again immediately after. “Ma keeps askin’ about you. So does Scott. Don’t worry, though, I’m only tellin’ them the good things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” you snickered, rolling your eyes.

“The usual. Y’know, incredibly kind, sweet, funny as all hell, fuckin’ perfect ass-”

“Chris!” He started laughing, and you pictured him holding up his hands in mock defense. It was one of those deep laughs that shook his entire torso, your favorite laugh of his.

“So, how was your meeting this morning? Everything go okay?” You nodded. Considering you were on the phone, he obviously couldn’t see that, so you instead just followed up with an affirmative answer. “What happened?”

“Well,” you began, practicing the utmost caution in choosing your words. “He wanted to offer me a job. He’s starting work on a new film next month and thinks I’d do well as the female lead. I actually just finished the script before I called you. Gotta say, it’s pretty good.”

“Are you taking it?” You bit the inside of your lip. If you said yes, that might upset Chris. You wouldn’t fault him for that either, not with everything he knows about your relationship with Andy. But if you said no, Chris might think you’re turning it down because of him, because you’re afraid of how he’ll react. _Stop it. Chris isn’t petty like that, and you know it. But, what if…?_

 

*

 

Cleveland was beautiful. It was sunny, skies were clear, no wind. After the sun set, everything seemed to take on a life of its own. The city lights left you in awe, wondering how such beauty can come from simply flicking a switch. Cleveland’s skyline was absolutely stunning, all the buildings staggered and bright. From your hotel room, they almost looked like a mosaic of white-yellow panels.

As breathtaking as it was, you had a better view inside your hotel room. Chris was sprawled across the top of the mattress, a twisted and tangled sheet covering only the space between his hips and thighs. His hair was mussed, sticking up in some spots from you pulling on it and in others from the static created by rolling around. It was quite the sight to behold, and when you stumbled across it after getting a cup of water, you had to stop for a second to memorize that exact moment.

 _God_ , you were so fucking in love with him… Never did you think you’d find someone like Chris, let alone actually have him to yourself. He was so sweet, so loving, so sincere. He was funny, he was gorgeous in every sense of the word, he was the epitome of perfection, and he was _yours_. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, the way he held you, it was honestly a wonder that you hadn’t yet slipped up. It was a genuine surprise that you hadn’t just outright told him you were in love with him. And if you were correctly translating the signals he was giving, he might just feel the same way.

“Get back in bed, babe. ‘m cold,” Chris whined, patting the open space beside him.

“I’m going to need better motivation than that, Mr. Evans,” you laughed, taking a sip of your water. Chris chuckled and leaned up on his forearm, raising an eyebrow.

“Captain America is naked in your bed, and he really just wants to fuckin’ cuddle the livin’ hell outta you right now. What better motivation could you ask for?”

“Fair point…” Well, it _was_ sound logic. You supposed you couldn’t really argue with that. He just looked too damn cute like this, and after swallowing down a mouthful of water, you crawled over the all but stripped bedding. The two of you wasted no time getting all curled up again, tangled together.

Your head came to rest on his chest. His heart was beating so fast, but so slow at the same time. It had quickly become one of your favorite sounds; so calming, so peaceful… Instinctively, the tips of your fingers began to drum it back to him, tapping the even rhythm on his skin. He chuckled, tilting his head down to kiss the top of yours.

“Tell me about this movie,” he muttered, fingers running a line up and down your spine. “The one with Stan.”

“Well, it’s a thriller, but also kind of a horror movie, and…” You launched into a long-winded explanation of the film’s plot and characters, sparing no details. This was your first project in a while that you could discuss in depth, let alone with someone who wasn’t part of the cast or crew. It wasn’t all under lock and key like Marvel films, and you knew Chris wouldn’t tell anyone anyways.

He was mostly quiet while you talking, occasionally acknowledging a statement with a nod or a little hum. It was never patronizing or annoyed. He seemed to be honestly interested as you poured over all the little dips and dots of the movie.

As soon as you concluded, Chris chuckled. You looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. He just shook his head, smile growing a little wider, and said, “Sounds like you’re really excited about it, babe.”

You nodded. The more you read the script, the more you fell in love with it. It was strange, it was deep, it was something you never thought you’d do, and you were actually really looking forward to it. Despite all the doubts you’d initially had, especially regarding the genre and frankly, the director, you couldn’t wait to get to work.

“Just promise me one thing.” Chris’ voice was hushed, like he was telling you a secret. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Promise me that you’ll be careful, okay? That fuckin’ sleazebag’s already hurt you enough.”

“Seb’ll be around,” you reminded, laying yourself back against his chest, kissing the curve of his pec. “I’ll be okay.”

“Please just promise me. Don’t wanna see my girl that upset ever again. I… Care about you too much.” That hesitation, it spoke the words that Chris couldn’t yet, and you knew exactly what he was getting at. _I love you too much_. And you loved him too much not to make that promise.

“I promise.” You felt Chris nod.

“Thank you,” he muttered softly, pressing his lips to the top of your head again. “Guess we should probably get some sleep, huh? Got a big day ahead of us tomorrow. Don’t wanna be falling asleep during junkets or nappin’ through the movie.”

You returned the nod, shifting in preparation to roll to your other side. As soon as Chris felt you move, his grip tightened.

“The hell you think you’re doin’?” His voice was mockingly stern, still with an edge of playfulness. “What part of ‘cuddle the livin’ hell outta you’ did you miss? You’re not goin’ anywhere, gorgeous. Get comfortable.”

With a light laugh, you nuzzled into his chest a little further. Though it was a little more comfortable to sleep on your right side than your left, nothing was more comfortable than falling asleep in his arms. If he didn’t want you to move, then by God, you weren’t going to move.

“Good night, Chris,” you mumbled. Once more, he kissed the top of your head. He let out a soft sigh, hands stilling against your bare skin.

“Good night, babe.”

 

*

 

Table reads had gone well. With the narrow window of time between the end of Civil War press and the start of filming for the new project, there had only been enough time to do two complete read-throughs with the full cast. Granted there were only seven of you, but with other obligations and a lack of comprehensive scheduling, it was difficult to round them up for what was more or less an impromptu read. You and Sebastian were the only ones readily available, so more often than not, the two of you ended up just rehearsing the scenes you shared.

Production began in late May in Toronto, and things went surprisingly well. You got along well with everyone around you, cast and crew alike. It was a pleasant surprise, really. You thought for sure that at least a handful of people would approach with more trepidation, especially regarding the circumstances. But you made fast friends with most, and everything just seemed so easy.

The only downside seemed to be all the long nights. On average, you were pouring yourself into bed around sunrise and sleeping until your early-evening call time. Instead of footing the bill to put your cast-mates up in a hotel for a month or so, the budget allowed for short-term apartment rentals. Between your incredibly public friendship with Sebastian and Andy’s penchant for authenticity, it was decided that you and Seb would share one.

“Couples learn all the annoying little things about each other that they hate when they live together, and I want that realism,” Andy had told you both while handing over the apartment keys. He also mentioned a later scene that he’d rather the two of you improvised rather than using the script. As a director, he was a big fan of method actors and their processes, so you assumed that’s what he was going for. Subtly asking the two of you to give it a shot.

Despite your hectic schedule (and his, too), you found ways to talk to Chris as often as possible, be it a cute text about missing him or leaving a voicemail for him to wake up to, telling him to have a good day. It was difficult to line up your schedules, especially with having a lot of night shoots.

Speaking of night shoots, last night was brutal. You were filming a classic horror scene: escaping via the woods. It was a nightmare sequence that stemmed from your character’s blossoming fear of her boyfriend. But unlike the original cliché, there was never a point where you were supposed to trip or fall. Not like that actually stopped you, though. You were stumbling over broken limbs from above and high-arching roots from beneath. While running, twigs and branches whipped at your arms, sometimes snapping beneath the sheer force of impact and jabbing your skin.

By the time Andy shut it down for the night, you were a bit worse for the wear. Scratches and scrapes lined your arms, dirt and dried blood caked on. Your knees were battered up just as badly from every time you hit the ground. Reddish-brown spots darkened your jeans. It was a chore to try peeling them off without disturbing the scabs starting to form. As soon as you got back to the apartment, you opted to change into some shorts and a t-shirt to tend to your wounds with more ease.

Sebastian, immediately upon seeing you, grabbed his wallet and headed right back out the door to pick up some rubbing alcohol, Neosporin, and band-aids. He was back in no time flat, toting along a plastic sack that sloshed and groaned as it swayed. According to him, the first order of business was for you to sit down and get comfortable. Because it was most convenient, you hopped up on the counter and situated yourself. When you were as comfortable as you could honestly get in that position, you gave him an affirmative nod. It was definitely going to hurt a bit, cleaning out the dirt. But you’d rather suffer through that than have to suffer through an infection.

“This isn’t gonna tickle,” Seb muttered, wetting down a hand towel with the rubbing alcohol and crouching down in front of you. “Just don’t kick me in the fuckin' face, a’right?”

You nodded, cringing inwardly as the cloth neared your split skin. Sebastian encouraged you to take a deep breath, and as soon as you did, he began to dab the alcohol on the wounds. Holy _fucking_ shit, that burned. Every nerve lit up in response. Had you not been willing away your reflexes, you were pretty sure you would’ve _actually_ kicked him.

After waiting for a moment to gauge your response, he continued on, patting across each of your knees. The alcohol bubbled as it burned, a sure sign that it was working, true to its intended purpose. With what was obviously a pained expression, you looked down at Sebastian, who was looking right back at you with nothing but the utmost sympathy.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled with a compassionate half-smile. “I know it stings, but we’re almost done.”

Oh man, make-up was going to be pissed at you tomorrow. Hopefully, they’d be able to work around all the nicks and scratches, particularly those on your face and neck. They weren’t nearly as bad as the others, but they were still noticeable and might take a day or two more to heal. Sebastian was optimistic that they’d find a way to work around it, and that, worst case scenario, they’d just choose to shoot the end scenes of the movie instead. Those required you to look pretty roughed up anyways…

“Found this outside the door when I came back,” Seb mentioned when he finished patching you up. He dug a small black box out of the pocket of his jeans and placed it in your palm. You raised an eyebrow. Who the fuck would be leaving things for you, much less outside an apartment no one really knew you were staying in?

Curiosity outweighed your suspicion. You cracked open the lid of the box and were met with two things: a piece of paper and a small velvet bag. Carefully, you unfolded the little piece of paper. Scribbled in handwriting you didn’t recognize was a note.

_A token for every town we’ve shared. Hopefully we can add to it soon…_

_\- Mr. E_

You smiled, pulling open the drawstrings on the bag. Inside was a bracelet, gleaming silver beneath the kitchen lights. Tilting the bag over and shaking, you discovered it was actually a charm bracelet. Every few links was a trinket the same tone as the chain. A palm tree for L.A., the Eiffel Tower for Paris (how cliché, but also how cute!), a little music note (which you assumed was for Beijing), a Union Jack-style heart for London, and a brown and orange bead. You had to think about that last one for a few minutes before you realized that it was for Cleveland. There wasn’t much remarkable about the city, so you figured Chris settled for the Browns. You couldn’t help but laugh a little at that. Of course he would think of that. Quickly, you sent him a little thank you text, but you figured it’d be a few hours before you got a reply.

You were wrong. His response took less than a few minutes.

_I didn’t send you a bracelet… Babe, what’s going on?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great<3


	14. N - Negotiate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit shorter than usual, I apologize. This has been one hell of a chapter for me to write, so hopefully it's not /too/ awful!  
> It's a bit of a rollercoaster, so bear with me!

**negotiate** – _verb_

\- find a way over or through (an obstacle or difficult path)

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“What’s wrong?” Seb asked as you lowered your phone. You didn’t answer, just continued to stare at the screen, which prompted him to ask again. “Hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not from Chris…” you muttered, brows furrowing in confusion. Who would send you something so obviously personal (not to mention expensive) if it weren’t Chris? It didn’t make any sense. There were only a handful of other people who were in all those cities with you, and most of them were very happily married. Come to think of it, only three of your co-stars (aside from your boyfriend) weren’t. That didn’t necessarily mean it _couldn’t_ have been one of the others, but you really had strong doubts about it.

Sebastian couldn’t – no, Sebastian _wouldn’t_ – do this. He knew how you felt about Chris, and call it intuition or instinct or whatever, but something told you he’d never do anything to jeopardize his friendships with either of you. Someone with such a big heart could never be so cruel.

That just left Jeremy or Chadwick, assuming that it actually _was_ a guy…

“Who sent it, then?” Seb was just as confused as you were, evidently. One of his eyebrows was arched high, and his tongue pocketed itself in his cheek.

“Dunno.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t Chris?” Before you had the chance to answer, you heard the most obnoxious noise coming from the living room. Sebastian’s phone was ringing, and apparently he’d left it on the coffee table. It was vibrating in long, hard bursts. You waved him away with your hand, telling him to go get it. He gave you an apologetic smile before disappearing into the other room.

Once he was out of sight, you managed to shimmy off the counter. You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and your phone off the counter, then headed down the hall. Stopping first in the bathroom, it was your intention to take a shower before going to bed, but with as sore and tired as you were feeling, that would require more ambition than you were feeling like you had. Instead, you just put up your hair, brushed your teeth, and went into your room. Tossing your dirty clothes into a pile with the others, you made a mental note to throw your laundry into the washer before leaving for filming. Whether you’d remember or not after waking up, you weren’t sure, but it never hurt to try reminding yourself beforehand.

Sebastian was still pacing the living room. You could hear the muffled fall of his bare feet against the carpet. Here and there, you could make out a little of what he was saying. The eavesdropping wasn’t intentional, not in the slightest. It’s just hard not to hear everything in such a small apartment when all else is silent.

“I noticed that, too,” you heard him mutter. “But yeah, I know who…” His volume dropped a little too low for you to hear, but you were awfully curious. Did Seb know who was sending these things? Who was he talking to? What the actual fuck was even going on?

You spent much long than you’d have liked wracking your brain for answers, tossing and turning all the while. Truthfully, there’s no way you’d know unless you asked. And as much as you didn’t want to, you knew you’d have to. Call it paranoia or what have you, but something in the back of your mind told you that whatever that phone call was referring to you. It sounded selfish, you knew, but if it had to do with you, you had a right to know. After about two hours of wrestling with your own mind, the exhaustion finally won out, and you fell into a fitful sleep.

When you awoke to your alarm a few hours later, your first instinct was to grab your phone and shut it off. The noise stopped, and you were greeted with a bundle of notifications. Five missed calls and two voicemails; all from Chris. Something must have been awfully important, and you slept right through it! Groaning inwardly, you dialed your voicemail.

“Hey, baby, it’s me,” the first began. “This was gonna be a surprise, but with everything going on right now, I kinda figured it’d be best not to… Fuck. I gotta go. I’ll try you again in a little bit, okay? I… Miss you. Bye!”

Before Chris hung up, you heard something in the background. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it sounded strangely familiar…

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s me again.” His voice was much softer this time around. It wasn’t nearly as frantic or rushed as the last call, and there was something soothing just beneath the surface of his tone. “Seb said you’re sleepin’, so I was hopin’ this wouldn’t wake you. Just needed to hear your voice, even if it’s only your voicemail thing. I know you’ll probably have questions after the first message I left, but I promise you, I’ll explain. Hope you’re sleepin’ well, babe. Sweet dreams.”

That was probably one of the best things you could’ve woken up to. After the night (and morning) you’d had, Chris’ voice was exactly what you needed right now. Despite being 2,500 miles away, he still managed to make you feel like he was right beside you. That alone would be the feeling that would get you through the rest of the night.

You laid there for a few more minutes, staring at the wallpaper on your phone. It was a picture of you and Chris from your last night in Cleveland. You had your lips pressed to his cheek, and Chris was wearing probably the biggest, goofiest grin you’d ever seen. It looked so good on him, too. Nothing else quite captured who the two of you were together like that picture.

When he saw it, Chris made a comment about how you looked “wicked good together”, then asked if you’d be okay with him sending it to his mom.

_“She’s been houndin’ me for a picture since we got back from China.”_

_“Guess you’d better send her all of them, then.”_

Shutting off your screen, you finally dragged yourself out of bed. The sheets were smudged with blood and dirt, and suddenly, you regretted not showering before going to sleep. With a huff, you started stripping the bedding. Oh well, you had to do laundry today anyways… Might as well throw it all in after you shower.

You left the pile beside your bedroom door, stumbling on sore legs into the hall. It was definitely one of those days where coffee would be what fueled your body to move, so you made your way into the kitchen, preparing to start a pot. But as you rounded the corner, you were surprised to find a fresh pot already brewing. Sebastian’s laugh from the living room drew your attention. Instead of ignoring it in favor of your coffee, your curiosity got the better of you, so you poked your head through the doorway. And honestly, you were blown away by what you saw.

Chris sat on the couch with Seb, cradling a mug of coffee in his hands. His bright blue eyes met yours, and a huge smile plastered itself across his lips.

“Surprise, babe!”

 

*

 

Chris was early. He explained that to you over a late lunch before heading to set with you and Sebastian. It was originally planned that he’d come up over the weekend to surprise you before the wrap party, and then he’d take you back to L.A. with him for some – as Sebastian so crudely put it –quality nudie time (“Oh, _please_! You know as well as I do that you two’ll be fuckin’ like rabbits for _days_!”), but with the issue at hand, he and Seb decided it’d be best for him to come up early. Normally, you’d be over the moon with elation, especially since you probably wouldn’t see Chris much while he was filming Infinity War. This time, though, it came with a catch. He just _had_ to show up on the day you were filming a huge make out scene with one of his closest friends. Talk about awkward…

To put it plainly, you were nervous. This wasn’t your first time kissing someone on-screen, nor was it your first time kissing Sebastian on-screen, but this was the first time Chris would have to watch you kiss someone that wasn’t him. He’d never fault you for it; it was part of the job. You knew that. What concerned you was his mild streak of jealousy. You’d seen it before, when Sebastian was drunkenly flirting with you at the Los Angeles premiere.

But with all the lights on bright, you and Seb in full costume and make-up, and Andy situated behind the camera, there was no turning back. Not even with Chris standing off to the side, arms crossed over his chest and a tense-but-amused grin tugging at the corner of his lips. Not once ‘ _action_ ’ was called.

It took upwards of six takes for Andy to finally be satisfied with what he was seeing on the monitor. He wasn’t exactly happy with it, but he didn’t hate it either. You and Sebastian were given a short break while he regrouped with his producers, trying to work out something that would please both parties in full. Seb opted to go get more coffee, leaving you and Chris alone.

“I think he’s just doin’ it to piss me off,” Chris confessed when the two of you stepped outside. He tucked a cigarette between his lips and lit it, taking a long drag before allowing an ashen cloud of smoke to roll over his pouting lips. The tone of his voice was clipped, curt. You could tell he was getting agitated, and honestly, you couldn’t really blame him. If you had to repeatedly watch him kiss one of your closest friends, you’d be pissed too. Especially if his director continually complimented the scene, then ordered another take in the same breath.

“Bet he thinks it’s funny,” he went on. “Makin’ me watch my baby kiss another guy as many times as he wants… Fuckin’ jealous prick.”

This was so much worse than what you expected. Chris was beyond heated. The fire behind his eyes blazed brighter than the cherry on his cigarette, and it burned away at his bright blue irises, darkening them to charred rubble.

“Chris, I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.” You were doing your best to be reassuring, but that wasn’t easy to do when you didn’t exactly believe it yourself. Andy was definitely the type to abuse his authority for his own personal agenda. “Besides, he doesn’t even know we’re together, how-”

“Bullshit! He fuckin’ knows!” Chris shouted back, immediately getting defensive.

“How would-”

“Because I fuckin’ told him!” With every letter, Chris’ volume was rising. Casting his arms out to the sides in a hostile gesture, he continued. “Why are you standing up for him? After everything he’s done to you, after everything he’s put you through, you’re still gonna stand there and _defend_ him?”

“I’m not defending him,” you replied evenly, trying to diffuse the situation with your hands up offensively.

“You _are_ defending him, and it’s fuckin’ bullshit. How can you be so fuckin’ blind?” If Chris was trying to piss you off, he was doing a hell of a job. It was like your mind, your filter, they went dark. That one little spark from his mouth was all it took to light your fuse, and like a Roman candle, you just blew up.

“So what then? So what if he’s trying to piss you off? You can be the bigger man here, Chris. You’re giving him exactly what he wants by acting like a god damn child!”

Instead of actually listening, Chris just plowed on, like you hadn’t said a single word.

“And you’re just playing right into it. Practically tongue-fucking Sebastian like a pro while I’m sitting on the sidelines, watching the whole thing. You expect me to be okay with that? You expect that shit not to bother me?”

“It shouldn’t bother you! It’s a fucking _job_ , Christopher!”

“So still being in love with Andy, that’s part of the job too?” Like it was made of porcelain, you felt your heart shatter as it dropped into the pit of your stomach. Shards stuck your insides, pricking new holes with every breath. The sudden appearance of tears burned the brims of your eyes, and you willed them not to fall. But alas, you blinked, and they _did_ fall. More of them than you were expecting.

“Are you kidding me right now?” you mumbled. Clenching you jaw, you swallowed down the lump in your throat, focusing on getting your words before the first sob escaped. “Are you fucking kidding me?! I… I can’t believe you just said that…”

Chris didn’t say anything. His steely resolve didn’t crumble beneath the weight of your incredulity.

“I opened up to you.” Your voice was cold, vacant. “I let you in, told you everything about myself, and you choose to throw it in my face the first opportunity you get. I’m not still ‘ _in love_ ’ with him, Chris. I haven’t been since…”

“Since what?” he snapped, fierce expression refusing to relent.

“Since I met you.” That sob you’d worked so hard to hold back came out, and you didn’t do a thing to try and mask the pain. There was nothing diplomatic or kind about the way he handled his emotions at that moment. He’d taken a cheap shot, a low blow, and he said what he said with the express intent of hurting you. That wasn’t him, that wasn’t _your_ Chris, and he didn’t even seem to realize that.

“Is that why you came, then?” you asked in a small voice. “To see my supposed infidelity for yourself? Good job, Evans. You’re here. See everything you wanted to see?”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he answered straight away, turning on his heel. Was he…? Yup. He was seriously walking away from you, and you had no desire to chase him down. Instead, you finally gave in to your wobbling knees and sat down on the cement. Drawing your knees up to your chest, you dropped your forehead against them and just cried. You cried until you physically couldn’t anymore, until your throat was raw and your chest ached.

As soon as the tears stopped, you decided it was time to pull yourself together and go finish out your work day. Maybe the exhaustion that came with these long nights would lull you into a coma for a few hours, and you’d feel better when you woke up. You doubted it, but it was the only positive thought in your head at the moment, and you had to hold on to it.

 

*

 

Just as you’d hoped for, you were completely drained by the time you got back to the apartment. The work you put into shooting left you physically exhausted while your fight with Chris had taken its toll on you emotionally. All you wanted was to crawl in bed and sleep for half a century. Maybe that would ease your mind _and_ your body. Showering could wait until the morning, and so could your stomach, though you were pretty sure you could talk Seb into making something for you when he got home. He understood that it had been a rough day for you. But for the time being, you bed was beckoning to you with the sweet promise of tomorrow being a better day.

After kicking off your shoes by the door and tossing your keys on the counter with Sebastian’s, you headed down the hall for your room. The steady fall of your feet against the carpet was strangely peaceful, and it only made you ache more for sleep. With careful hands, you opened the door to your bedroom. What you found waiting for you was far from what you expected.

Chris was perched on the edge of your bed, elbows braced on his knees and head in his hands. The squeal of the door hinges informed him of your arrival, and his head immediately shot up. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen, and rimmed bright red. The tip of his nose was a violent shade of pink, and his cheeks were dampened with trails of tears since shed. Honestly, he looked like shit, and you felt your chest clench a little at the sight. He’d been crying, and you’d never seen him do that before.

“What are you doing here?” you asked quietly, not quite sure if you wanted to know the answer. He sighed, raking one hand the rest of the way through his hair.

“Seb, he, uh, gave me his keys. Said he’d give us some privacy so we could talk.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He took a deep breath, folding his hands together in his lap. The anxious twitch in his fingers gave away his nerves.

“I… I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave without seeing you.” You scoffed at that, peeling off your jacket and tossing it aside.

“You made it pretty clear earlier that you wanted to see anyone _but_ me.” Chris shook his head, jaw tensing. You could tell he had something to say about that, but he must’ve bitten his tongue, knowing it wouldn’t be wise to allow this to turn into another fight all together. Deal with one problem at a time.

“Can we talk about this?” His tone was hushed, just barely above a whisper, like he was afraid to wake your neighbors. You responded by folding your arms protectively over your chest. “Please? Just hear me out, okay? I… I’ll leave after that, if that’s what you want.”

With a sigh, you conceded.

“I’m so sorry.” His volume didn’t rise any, and he couldn’t seem to look you in the eye. He just stared at the floor, hands fidgeting. “I know you probably hate me,” _Wrong_. “And you have every right to. What I said to you? That… That wasn’t okay. I knew the second that it came outta my big, dumb mouth that it was gonna hurt you, and I’m so sorry, baby.”

At the tail end of his sentence, his voice cracked, and a fresh wave of tears filled his eyes. You noticed that when he finally looked up, eyes locking on yours.

“I owe you an explanation…” He blew out a stream of air and closed his eyes for a second, preparing himself for what was to come. “Andy and I were talkin’ while you and Seb were in make-up, and he mentioned something about hoping this movie would set you and him back on good terms. Started talkin’ about how much he missed you and that everything that happened had all been one big mistake. I guess I just kinda saw red. After what he did to you, I wasn’t about to let him think for a second that he’d ever get you back. So, I told him to watch himself. I mean, c’mon, that’s my girl he’s talkin’ about. And I guess that didn’t sit well with him. He made you do all those takes just to piss me off, and his PA straight up _told_ me that.”

“Chris-” Before you could say anything more, he cut you off.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know I hurt you. For that, I’ll never forgive _myself_. But if you’ll let me, I’m willing to spend every day of the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Why?” In one fluid motion, slow and calculated, Chris stood up and closed the gap between the two of you. He maintained a respectable distance, no part of him touching you until his rough palms moved to cradle your jaw in his hands. As soon as he figured out you weren’t going to flinch away from him, he again set his gaze on yours. In his eyes, you could see the sincerity, the honesty. Whatever he was about to say, he meant it, and that’s what made it hurt even more. It’s exactly what you were afraid he was going to say, and that declaration sealed the deal.

“Because I love you. I love you with every ounce of my heart and soul, and I’m fuckin’ scared shitless that I’m gonna lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great. : )


	15. O - Oneirodynia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how long this has taken. With starting a new job and the life being hectic, I've barely had time to write lately. Hopefully this will satisfy you guys until the next chapter is ready!
> 
> <3

**oneirodynia** – _noun_

\- intense mental disturbance or distress associated with dreaming

 

* * *

 

 

 

Everything moved in slow motion. Those three little words put your mind into a tailspin, and there was no way to pull yourself out of it. The entire room was tilting, just like your head when you started to lean in. You couldn’t help yourself. All the hurt and anger dissipated, and you couldn’t bear to see that pained expression on his face anymore. Your heart couldn’t take seeing someone you love – someone who loves _you_ – in such distress. The only thing you wanted in the moment was to make that look go away, so you did the only thing you could think of… You kissed him.

Despite how he held you like you were made of glass, his body went rigid the second your mouth met his. You could taste every ounce of fear on his lips, the apprehension and anxiety coursing through his body. There was a tremble in his fingers, still resting up against the soft skin on your neck. Wet paths on his cheeks transferred to yours, and that was when you realized those tears were for you. He was terrified of what was bound to happen between the two of you, especially after what he said and the way he left. Nothing scared him more than the thought of losing everything the two of you had fought to have together, and his hesitance swore to you that all of it was true. He wasn’t giving up, and neither were you.

Finally, after what felt like minutes of not moving, Chris’ body seemed to come around. The touch of your skin against his when your small fingers wrapped around his wrists must’ve jarred him from whatever stupor he’d fallen into. His lips parted, and he melted into you. Letting go of your jaw, his arms enveloped you. Every plane and curve of his body molded to fit against you. One of your hands came to rest against his chest, right over his heart, the heart that beat for you. The other tangled itself in his hair, pulling him down, down, like you couldn’t get him close enough. He reciprocated, tightening his arms around you, pressing his forehead to yours, keeping you firmly against him.

His hold shifted as he locked his arms just beneath the curve of your ass and lifted you. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. With as little movement as possible, he turned and deposited you on the mattress, never once breaking away. His lips maintained a steady rhythm until he caged you in, effectively trapping you beneath him. Then the two of you parted, and he only pulled back far enough to speak without it being muffled.

“Do you feel that?” Chris asked softly, guiding your hand to rest over his heart. You nodded, biting the inside of your lip. “That’s for you. My heart, my mind, my body, every part of me. All of it. It’s all yours for as long as you want it. I’m yours, baby.”

The tantalizing thump of his heart with every beat, struggling against his rib cage, it seemed to make everything real to you. Everything from the day you met Chris to that exact moment. Every touch, every kiss, every word, it was all something tangible now. You had him, and he had you, completely and entirely.

You sighed breathlessly, leaning into him. His lips just barely brushed against yours again, then he moved to start kissing your lower jaw, taking his time to work from one side to the other before moving to your neck and continuing down.

“M’gonna make this right, baby, I promise,” he muttered against your skin.

Clothes were discarded carelessly, tossed to the floor as soon as you patiently worked each other out of them. They formed a perfectly chaotic pile on the carpet, a collage of colors against a sea of light grey. You couldn’t bear to have any sort of barrier separating you from Chris, and if his feather-light touches and hushed sighs were any inkling, he felt the same.

His calloused fingertips danced so delicately down your sides, raising a trail of goosebumps in their wake until they settled low on your hip. Using the leverage, he hooked your thigh over the deep V-cut of his pelvis and pressed himself against you fully, waiting for your signal that you were ready, that you wanted this, wanted _him_. You arched up, grabbing at his broad, muscular shoulders.

“Please,” you sighed just as his mouth returned to yours. He took a few gentle pecks before just barely nipping your lower lip.

“Please what, baby? Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything you ask.” His voice was so soft, so quiet. Chris was usually so boisterous with his big, booming Boston accent that it almost didn’t even sound like him. It was like he was tiptoeing through every syllable, careful to show you every letter like it was his last hope.

With his free hand, he cradled your lower jaw, thumb tracing your bottom lip. The kisses paused, but you could feel him hovering just above you. He was waiting again. Opening your eyes, you were met with his bright blues and an arduous half smile engrained with a seriousness you’d only seen on Chris a handful of times. There was nothing uncertain about the way he was looking at you, and you could finally see that Scarlett had been right. Not only Scarlett, but Tom and Frank and Sebastian and Jeremy and… Well, literally everyone that had seen the two of you together noticed what you were just now noticing.

Chris looked at you like you were the only other person on the planet. He was watching you like you hung the moon and stars just for him, each and every one by hand. It was as if you’d lit the sun yourself and kept it burning blindly bright just to fuel the light in your smile. The gesture itself was so pure. You’d seen so many of your friends wearing that same look before. Hemsworth to Elsa, Robert to Susan, Paul to Julie, Scarlett to Romain, Mackie to Sheletta, Grillo to Wendy… You’d seen them all with those smitten looks before. That’s how you knew Chris wasn’t lying when he said he loved you.

“Show me, Christopher,” you murmured, maintaining eye contact through weighted lids and a dark fan of eyelashes. “Show me you mean it.”

And he didn’t hesitate. He took his time taking you apart piece by piece and putting you back together, gluing over the cracks with heartfelt apologies and promises to do better, to never hurt you again. Sex and love had never been synonymous to you, but something in the way he handled you spoke volumes about the high-running emotions between the two of you that could only be expressed by raw passion. Words would never be able to describe this.

Before dozing off on his chest with those strong arms holding you close, you tapped his collar bone gently and drowsily mumbled, “This doesn’t mean I’m not still mad at you.”

“I know,” he replied quietly, voice thick with something you couldn’t quite read. “God, I don’t fuckin’ deserve you.

“Too bad,” came your sleep-laden response. “M’not letting you go…”

“Thank God.” He kissed the top of your head and rubbed his fingers across your shoulders, pushing you further into the enticing embrace of sleep.

“And Chris?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you, too…”

 

*

 

The fading daylight streamed through the gap in the curtains, casting oblong shadows across the pale carpet. Clothes were still strewn across the floor haphazardly, painting a clear image of exactly what had transpired. Not that you’d forgotten… How could you forget the single most beautiful experience of your life?

Rolling on your side, you were met with cold sheets. The side of the bed Chris had fallen asleep on was empty, but there was still an indent in the mattress from him. Using all the strength you could muster after just waking, you face-planted into the space he left, still able to smell his cologne on the pillow case. Despite waking up alone, it was reassuring to know that you hadn’t been dreaming. He had been there, and judging by the clangs and curses from the kitchen, he still was.

By the time you’d gotten yourself up, half dressed, and into the kitchen, Chris was plopping pancakes down in a stack on a large plate. A bowl of fresh fruit had been cut up and left on the table, along with a bottle of syrup, a container of butter, a gallon of milk, two glasses, and silverware. Bacon was sizzling in a skillet on the stove, popping steadily and splashing up little bubbles of grease. Every few pops, Chris would hiss and shake his arm out. Until he noticed you standing at the edge of the counter, that’s when he put on his tough guy act and pretended to be unphased until the next grease splatter landed on his arm.

“God fuckin’…” he yelped, unintentionally throwing the spatula up in the air. Fumbling to catch it, the handle bounced off his fingers and he couldn’t recover. It clattered to the counter, then to the floor. Chris leaned against the counter and crossed one shin over the other, looking at you with a harsh blush and a timid grin. “Come here often?”

You couldn’t help but burst out laughing at that. He looked so nonchalant, like nothing had happened. That only lasted a few seconds before he followed your lead, laughing hard from deep in his gut.

When the two of you finally settled down, Chris picked up the plate of pancakes and set it on the table before sweeping in to kiss your cheek lovingly.

“G’mornin’, gorgeous. Hungry?” Almost on cue, you stomach grumbled, angry with you for not eating something when you first got home. Chris chuckled, putting his hand against the small of your back and guiding you towards the table. “C’mon. Sit down.”

Like a true gentleman, he pulled your chair out for you. He waited until you were situated and scooted you in before tossing the bacon on a pan with a few eggs and taking a seat beside you. The two of you loaded up your plates, eating mostly in silence. You kept looking at each other, grinning and chewing the whole time. About half way through, Chris reached over and took your hand in his. Even when he struggled to cut his pancakes one-handed, he didn’t let go. You had to give him credit. He was definitely trying.

“You do know it’s not morning, right?” you giggled. Chris nodded emphatically, and silence fell between the two of you again, but only for a few minutes.

“So, you’ve got the wrap party comin’ up, huh?” he asked between bites. You nodded, swallowing down your mouthful. “You okay with me stickin’ around for it?” Again, you nodded. Just because there was a bit of friction between the two of you didn’t mean you didn’t want him around. Sure, there were things to work through, but you needed him by your side to do that.

Chris gave you a tight-lipped grin, careful to conceal the mass of food in his mouth. Something told you that there was more he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to bring up what happened on set. For once, the blissful ignorance that came with ignoring the elephant in the room was refreshing. The two of you fell back into silence, his hand still clasping yours.

After breakfast, you insisted on cleaning up. Chris had done all the cooking, so it was only fair, but he refused to take no for an answer. You washed and he dried, stacking the dishes evenly on the clear countertop. As you were putting them back in their designated cabinets, Chris stopped you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin came to rest in the curve of your neck, and you draped your hands over his forearms.

“About yesterday… Baby, I’m-”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry,” you interrupted quietly, rubbing your thumbs over his skin. You felt him tense behind you, and his arms went lax like he was about to let go, so you quickly continued. “I’m not mad. The things you said… You were angry, you were hurt, and you lashed out. I just so happened to be the one in front of the whip. But you didn’t mean it, Chris, and you need to know that _I_ know that.”

Sighing heavily into your skin, he nodded, planting a gentle kiss right below your ear. After a beat, he whispered, “I meant it when I told you I love you.”

“I know.” You felt his lips twist into a sweet smile again the side of your neck. “And I meant it when I said it back. Everything is okay between us, Chris. I’m not mad, and you’ve apologized… In the best possible way, might I add.”

He chuckled, squeezing his arms tightly around you.

“Glad you approve,” Chris sighed, moving to kiss the curve of your jaw. “Whaddya say we take a quick shower and then cuddle up on the couch for a movie, huh? You don’t gotta be on set until tomorrow mornin’, right?”

“That sounds like a pretty good plan, Mr. Evans,” you affirmed, turning your head just far enough to plant a sweet, loving kiss on his lips. He groaned low in his throat, shaking his head.

“You’re trouble, baby. Nothin’ but trouble.” You snorted inwardly, trying to disguise a little laugh. “Seriously! You know what that does to me. I like it too much.”

You were just about to retort when a slamming door interrupted you.

“Chris! Chris, you here?” Sebastian shouted. The falls of his boots across the hardwood flooring were agonizingly heavy and consistent, like he was pacing. You weren’t sure whether his tone was more angry or shocked, and that sent you into a mild panic. Seb was one of the most level-headed people you knew, always so calm and collected. Needless to say, even _hearing_ him like was disconcerting.

Chris groaned inwardly and begrudgingly released you from his hold after kissing your temple.

“Lemme go see what he wants.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t. But those boys definitely didn’t know how to whisper, and it’s not like there was a thick wall between the kitchen and the living room.

“I got it,” Seb stated plainly, somewhat out of breath. “Took a lot of phone calls and a little bit of yelling, maybe some bribery, but I got it.”

“And?” you heard Chris prod. With the tone he’d taken up, you could practically hear his eyebrow cock itself and his head tilt to the side.

“And you’re gonna be pissed, man.” There was silence between them for a minute, a silence filled to the brim with tension. The tension was like a wire pulled tight, with cranks pulling at both ends. It could only withstand so much before it snapped, and when it did, it was dangerous. Much like Chris, when he finally snapped himself out of the hostile daze he’d fallen into.

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ jokin’… It’s _him_?!”

 

*

 

Two months later and you’d received two more charms. One was a maple leaf, obviously celebratory of the time spent in Toronto, and the other arrived in the form a heart on which the word ‘home’ was engraved. A note accompanied the latter reading: “Because home is wherever you are”.

Under any other circumstances, you would’ve been so touched. But because Chris had made it very clear that these gifts were not from him, their appearance made your heart plummet into your gut. When new flowers were delivered to your apartment, the same reaction was warranted. It made your sick to your stomach to know that someone was keeping such close tabs on you. They knew when you were home, they knew when you were away, and they knew each destination you visited.

It was easy enough to whittle down the numbers… Everyone had been present in Los Angeles. Everyone had been present in Paris, in London. But only half the cast had been in both Beijing and Cleveland. A mere three of those remaining had been in Toronto, and you knew that none of the three were likely suspects. You hadn’t sent them to yourself, Chris was absolutely adamant that he hadn’t sent them (but he did admit that as cheesy a gesture it was, he wished he would’ve thought of it first), and Sebastian, well… You knew Seb would never do anything to interfere with your relationship with Chris. It was a discussion the two of you had not long after the drunken incident in Hollywood, and he admitted that he would be crushed to see you and Chris end things.

“I care way too much about both of you to let you throw away something you’ve worked so hard for. That’s why I made Chris go back to the apartment to talk things out with you, and that only happened after I chewed his ass for hurting you in the first place. Trust me, kid… At this point, I might just be more invested in this relationship than either one of you.”

But what prompted you to readdress that night in Toronto, the conversation you’d overheard between Chris and Seb, was the delivery of yet another charm.

The third arrived shortly after you had returned home from a three-day shut in at Chris’ spacious home just outside the city. Seventy-two uninterrupted hours of take-out food, movies, cuddling, and sex on just about every surface in the house. It was a blissful vacation from the real world, and it all came crashing down around you the second you took the lid off the box.

Silver, just like all the others. Except this time, it was a letter. The letter ‘E’.

Immediately, you called Chris frantically. As soon as he heard the panic in your voice, he was out the door. You could tell by the sound of him fumbling with his keys and the change in sound quality when he put you on speaker via the Bluetooth system in his car. When you explained what you found, he paused for a moment, like he was trying to pick his words very carefully as not to upset you further.

“Baby, don’t touch that box again. Leave it exactly where it is, and call Kat. Ask her to come stay with you until I get there. I’m on my way, okay?”

“Do you know something about this that I don’t?” you countered almost immediately.

“Just trust me, okay? I’ll explain everything as soon as I get there, I promise.” You weren’t in any mood to argue. You were already scared out of your wits, and if Chris was withholding information, it was something better discussed in person. He was right; you had to trust him on this.

After hanging up with Chris, you _did_ call Kat. She came over immediately, though you were interrupting her date night with her boyfriend, Josh. Instead, she grabbed their pizza, he grabbed a few drinks, and they came over together to wait with you for Chris.

“You’re literally my best friend,” Kat explained when you began apologizing for ruining their night. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Besides, this is adding some adventure to our night. We were just gonna sit at home and watch movies anyways.”

The plan transferred over, in a sense. Josh decided on _Band of Robbers_ to tide you over until Chris arrived, and Kat ordered an extra pizza (“We can’t all share _one_ … Josh eats like a horse, and I’m sure Chris will want a slice or four.”). As soon as the delivery driver made his drop-off, the three of you sat in silence, listening to the on-screen bicker and banter between Adam Nee and Kyle Gallner. Unfortunately, your mind wasn’t with the movie. It was trapped inside the box on your coffee table.

About three-quarters through the movie, there was another knock on your door. This time, it was Chris. Despite the tremble in his touch and the tension in his jaw, his voice was calm, level.

“Can we talk privately?” You nodded, already leading the way to your bedroom. When Kat shot you a questioning look, you just raised a finger and kept walking. Chris kept hot on your heels until the two of you were out of earshot. You closed the door quietly behind him. Turning back, you found him perched on the edge of your mattress, patting the spot next to him. You took the spot he offered, and he took your hand in his. The grip was tight, but more so desperate and frightened.

“What’s going on?” You’d held it together remarkably well, but with him, all your walls came tumbling down, and you couldn’t hide just how genuinely upset you really were anymore. Your voice cracked and tears filled your eyes.

“We thought it was Renner,” Chris said softly, stroking your thumb with his. “The receipts all had his signature. But when I confronted him, he swore that it wasn’t _his_ signature.”

“What receipts? Chris, what are you talking about?”

“For the charms… Seb, uh, well, he figured out where the Cleveland charm was bought, and he sweet-talked the gal into showing him the receipt. That’s why he was gone all day while we were kinda makin’ up. And then when we got back, he and I went to the shop that the palm tree charm was from. Same thing. But the signatures don’t match. They’re forgeries.”

“So Renner isn’t my creepy secret admirer?” you asked quietly, tightening your grip on Chris’ hand. He shook his head. As he replied, you felt your blood run cold.

“This guy isn’t a ‘secret admirer’, babe. He’s a fuckin’ stalker.”

You remained silent for a moment, staring at Chris with glassy eyes. A few tears fell, but he was quick to wipe them away.

“Hey… Baby, don’t cry. Everything’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna nail this piece of shit, a’right?” Incredible. He could go from 0 to 60 and back in the blink of an eye. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna keep you safe. He’s not gettin’ anywhere near my girl again.”

“Do you know who he is?” Finally, the real question came out. With a hesitant nod, Chris licked his lips nervously.

“It’s gotta be Renner’s agent. That’s the only person with regular access to his cards.” He paused. “Renner pointed him out in the background of a few pictures from the press tour. Maybe you know of him… Name’s Edward Small?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great! : )


	16. P - Prorogue (Pause)

**prorogue** – _verb_

\- to postpone; to defer

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Whoever handed Chris his first drink was an asshole. Drunk Chris wasn’t the best idea, but drunk Chris _in public_ was even worse. He wasn’t exactly troublesome, per se, but fuckin’ Christ, he couldn’t control his mouth. Shit just started spouting out like a god damn water fountain. He had half a mind to hire someone just to follow him around with a muzzle for nights he drank, keep him from making an ass of himself. Maybe he should’ve hired that person after he realized how stupid in love he was.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into five. Five turned into seven, and seven turned into _c’mon, Chris, let’s get you back to your hotel_. And that’s exactly what happened. Sebastian carted him back to his room and managed to convince him to take his damn shoes off before crawling into bed. An aspirin and a plastic cup of water were left on the nightstand, and Seb crept out slowly in hopes of not waking the already snoozing, snoring Chris.

But Chris wasn’t _really_ asleep. _Hellooooo_ , he’s an _actor_!

He waited for Sebastian to close the door, waited for the click of the automatic lock before catapulting himself from the bed so fast that the covers flew back, folding themselves haphazardly over the opposite side of the mattress. He had to get to her. Apologies, as his mother had taught him, are better made in person. Not over the phone, not over text, but face-to-face. He’d been such an ass to her (and Tom, but he would make amends for that one at a later time), a real fuckin’ idiot, and not even his drunken demeanor would stop him from saying he’s sorry.

With the same lack of caution, he tugged his shoes back on, tying the thin laces in a sloppy manner. It was only a few blocks he had to run, so he figured the knots would hold long enough. Loosening his tie and pulling his jacket back on, he tucked his room key into his pocket. Hoping Seb was actually gone (either headed back to the party or went to his own hotel room), Chris slinked out of his room and straight into the elevator.

Out of the lobby, hang a right; follow the city lights down four blocks, cross the street, and her hotel was the second building down. Chris ran through at a break-neck speed, bolting straight towards the stairs. They’d take less time than waiting for the elevator, and he didn’t have any time to waste.

He found her room number easily enough. Fifth floor, room 517. At least, that’s what he thought she said… Okay, so he’s 68% sure that’s what she said. God help him if he’s wrong, but he started pounding on the door anyways. It was three in the morning, and he was being loud as all hell, but if it disturbed the neighboring hotel rooms, there’s no way she’d sleep through it.

Finally, he heard the chain bolt slide back, followed by an irritated huff. He fully expected her to be wicked pissed, but much to his surprise, her contemptuous look fell into something softer.

She looked so fuckin’ beautiful standing there in her pajamas, hair mussed and make-up a little smudged. Something about her set off an alarm in Chris’ brain. It was a warning, telling him that if he stared for too long, he’d fall even deeper in love with her. He was already thinking about what it’d be like to wake up next to her every morning, especially if she looked exactly like this.

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly, finally ducking his head in hopes that she wouldn’t notice him staring. She opened the door wider, inviting him in. As a proper guest ought to, he kicked his shoes off beside the door. Neither of them spoke as he dragged a hand through his hair. Something bubbled up in his chest, be it the brazenness of the alcohol or just too much emotion hitting him at once, and he couldn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around her, and words just came out like vomit.

“I’m sorry, baby. ‘M so sorry. I’m a fuckin’ jerk. I’m a real fuckin’ jerk.” He stuffed his face into the crook of her neck and felt her small arms wrap back around him. “I’m a jealous asshole, an’ that’s not like me, an’ I’m sorry.”

“Can you tell me what upset you?” Her voice was so small, so hushed. While he pulled away, he couldn’t quite look her in the eye yet.

“I just… I saw how he was holdin’ you, touchin’ you, and – fuck, I’m so sorry, but I got so mad. I wanna be the one doin’ stuff like that, y’know? I wanna be next to you while we’re schmoozin’; keepin’ you right beside me, kissin’ on ya, all that shit. Then I saw Tom doin’ it. I lost my cool, and I was a total dick to both of you. Didn’t wanna admit it, but I guess I got kinda, y’know… Jealous. I don’t wanna share you with anyone anymore. Just want you to be mine. Is that… Something you, uh, might be interested in?”

When she leaned up and kissed his cheek, he felt his body relax. That simple gesture gave him all the reassurance he needed. As fleeting as it was, it was a promise that she held no ill will.

“Why don’t we wait until you sober up a little to talk about this?” she suggested, fingers resting against the side of his neck.

“I’m sober enough right _now_ ,” he groaned, throwing his head back into the curve of her neck. His arms tensed like pythons, pulling her as close as possible, half a breath away from the two of them becoming one solid entity. “Just say yes so I can kiss you already. Please? I haven’t kissed you in, like, three days. C’mon, I’m dyin’ here.”

“You’re such a big baby… Fine. One kiss. _One_.” Well, that was good enough for him.

 

*

 

Pacing. He was pacing. Chris was practically wearing down a trail in the carpet. Good thing he remembered to take his shoes off or else his mother might’ve whooped his ass.

He felt sick to his stomach. Nerves felt like static on a television set and his body seemed to weigh three times as much. It’d been well over a couple hours that he’d been feeling like this, and he was just ready for it to be over. The waiting, the worrying, the constant ‘ _what_ _if_ s’…

Anticipatorily, his fingers twitched against his palm. Instinct guided his hand into the pocket of his sweats. All the hollow distractions he’d found didn’t hold up for any more than a few minutes, and the only thing he wanted was to call her, make sure everything was okay. But she promised to call him later in the day, and Chris had to remind himself that she _would_ call.

Letting out a heaving sigh, he flopped down on the couch just as his brother happened by.

“What’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?” Scott snickered, leaning against the door frame and crossing his ankles.

“Nothin’,” Chris muttered back, suppressing an eye roll.

“Don’t gimme that shit.” Directing a pointed look at his older brother, Scott ambled to the couch and plopped down next to Chris. “You act like I don’t know when something is buggin’ you. C’mon, talk to me.”

“’s nothin’.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” his younger brother snapped, propping his heels up on the edge of the coffee table. That earned a half-hearted glare from Chris and a disapproving head shake. With the back of his hand, he swatted Scott’s thigh in reprimand.

“Get’cher fuckin’ feet off the table. You know Ma hates that shit.”

“I’ll put ‘em down when you tell me what’s on your mind,” Scott countered quickly. Chris sighed heavily. There’s no way he was winning this one, so with another heaving breath, he spilled his guts.

“’m scared, man. I know I’m just bein’ paranoid or whatever, but I don’t wanna lose her.” He explained everything. All the things that had happened since they’d spoken on the phone during the press tour were covered thoroughly. Scott just stared at him, listening intently until Chris finished. Then he took a deep breath.

“I know you can’t really help it, but you’ve gotta stop doing this to yourself.” Chris huffed humorlessly through his nose, “I mean it. You’re stressin’ too much over nothing. From the sound of it, this girl is nuts about you. There’s no way she’d leave you to get back with a guy that treated her like this.”

Chris just stared at his clasped hands. He was trying his best to take everything his brother said to heart. Frankly, it wasn’t her that he didn’t trust; it was Andy. That skeevy little snake knew he fucked up by letting her go, and Chris wasn’t quite sure to what lengths he’d go in order to get her back. Scott had a point, though. Sure, Chris was flawed – more so than he cared to admit – but he would never dream of doing anything he knew would hurt her. That wasn’t the kind of man he was, and he prided himself on that.

The chirp of his phone didn’t quite reach his ears until Scott shoved his phone in his face. Her bright smile lit up the screen, and Chris grabbed his phone quicker than he should’ve. Scott held up his hands in mock offense and snorted, “Well, I’ll just see myself out, then. Tell her I said hi.”

With a wink, he backed out of the room. Chris took a deep breath to calm his nerves before sliding his finger over the little green phone icon.

“Hey, gorgeous!” He was trying his best to sound infinitely less concerned than he felt, and she seemed to buy it.

“Chris, hey! How are you? How’s Boston?”

“Boston’s great! Weather’s been nice, whole family’s here. Scott flew in from L.A. last night, my uncle’s out back grillin’. So my ma’s pretty happy to have everyone home, and if she’s happy, I’m happy.” _Wow, Evans. Way to play it cool. If she didn’t already know what a fuckin’ sap you are, she sure does now…_ “Only way this could get any better s’if you were here with us.”

Man, that’d be great, wouldn’t it? Having this girl he’s head over heels for sipping on a cold beer while sitting in his lap, watching the sunset around the fire pit with the kids roasting marshmallows and everyone else telling stories. There was no doubt in his mind that they’d all absolutely adore her, especially his mom. He could practically hear her now…

“Quite the catch, Christopher. You better hold on to this one.”

She mentioned that it sounded like Chris was having a good time, and the banter continued until Chris finally worked up the courage to ask her how the meet-up with Andy went. He held his breath, awaiting the answer like a defendant for his verdict. The news of a job came as a pleasant surprise, though he was none too thrilled that it was _him_ offering her a job. Still, he asked calmly when she mentioned her thoughts on the script “Are you taking it?”

For a moment, she fell silent. Chris’ heart shot up into his throat. He couldn’t very well be upset with her for taking the job, especially when it sounded like she genuinely loved the script. But if she turned the job down, guilt would eat away at him. It would feel like she declined because of him, and he wasn’t so sure he could deal with knowing he was the driving force behind her not taking a role that could propel her career so much further than Marvel could. She wouldn’t be typecast with such a diverse resume, and that could open so many doors for her. Chris couldn’t let himself get in her way like that…

 

*

 

He fucked up. He fucked up so badly, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Chris’ mind was running rampant, searching for something that might help, but each effort came up empty. Remorse gnawed at his insides. He couldn’t get the look on her face out of his head. That choked off sob from the back of her throat still rang in his ears. The tears welling up in her eyes, the way her jaw clenched, the tremble of her lower lip as she fought to hold it back. It was killing him.

He never should’ve walked away from her. He never should’ve opened his big, dumb mouth.

As of now, he was sitting on the floor in Seb’s personal trailer, head tucked between his knees and fingers tugging anxiously at his hair. Tears dripped off his cheeks, falling in patches on the carpet. He sniffled, trying in vain to catch his breath before the next wave of panic and pain hit him.

A dull, throbbing ache was starting in his fingers. He’d been completely numb to it when he put his fist through the drywall, but now that the adrenaline was waning, it was catching up. Sebastian had just barely returned with a small bag of ice from catering and was hovering over Chris, holding the bag against his split and scraped skin.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Seb reassured. “We’ll figure it out. You guys’ll be okay.”

“No, we won’t.” Chris’ voice cracked, and he fought his hardest to keep another shuddering sob back until he finished. “She’s never gonna forgive me for-“

“She’d never forgive you if you didn’t try,” Seb cut in. “You love her, right?” Chris nodded. “Then don’t let her go, because she loves you too.”

Chris’ head snapped up so fast he knocked the bag of ice right out of his friend’s hand.

“Wait, what?” Sebastian nodded, a little smirk curling up one corner of his mouth. “She… She does?”

Well, if that didn’t light a fire under Chris’ ass, nothing would. Seb had given him all the ammunition he needed, and he’d shoot for the best.

“Here.” Seb held out his hand, a gleaming key ring in his grasp. “She’ll be heading home in less than an hour. Pick up some flowers or some shit. Show her you’re sorry, okay?”

He didn’t even have to think twice about it. Chris took the keys, thanked Seb quickly, and rushed out the door. Finding his rental car, he threw his suitcase in the trunk and sped off, racing his way through the city. He took Sebastian’s suggestion, stopping to pick up flowers and a box of chocolates. That wouldn’t earn him clemency, but it wouldn’t hurt either.

By the time he got back to the apartment, he had less than ten minutes to prepare himself. He sunk the flowers into the vase he’d bought and set it on the counter with the candy. There was no certainty as to how this would go, and Chris was slowly realizing that. That sense of overwhelming dread crept back into his mind, and before he could process it, he was breaking down again. He managed to get to the bedroom before tears blurred his vision to the point of practical blindness.

Dropping on the edge of the mattress, he braced his elbows on his knees and let his head fall forward into his hands, staying like that until he heard the front door close. When he heard her footsteps hit the hallway, he took a deep breath, praying that she wouldn’t kick him out on sight.

“What are you doing here?” she asked upon opening the bedroom door. When he looked up, his heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, and he immediately felt sick. Her eyes were swollen and wet, like she’d just barely managed to compose herself enough before she walked in. And now here he was, probably breaking her heart all over again. God, he felt like shit. How could he have done that? How could he have said those things to her? He loved her, for fuck’s sake!

He swallowed hard, trying to wet his dry throat. When that didn’t work, he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Seb, he, uh, gave me his keys. Said he’s give us some privacy so we could talk.”

And talk they did. He spared no details about how he felt about her. With every word, his shoulders felt just a little bit lighter, and when he finally confessed just how in love with her he was, that weight disappeared entirely. It was all in her hands now. There was nothing more he could do.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. As soon as their lips met, he knew she felt the same.

With every ounce of his heart and soul, Chris swore to her that he’d make things right. He wasn’t quite sure how to make this up to her, but he would find a way. Anything he could do, anything she asked of him, he would do it. If she wanted the galaxy on a silver platter, he’d give it to her. He’d steal the very moon and stars from their place in the sky if she asked him to.

There was nothing more in this world that he could hope for. She was everything he could’ve ever wanted, that was clear now. And with her fast asleep on his chest, lips slightly parted and hair splayed over his skin, he started planning.

 

*

 

There’s no feeling in the world more terrifying than realizing someone you love is in danger, except perhaps the knowledge that for the time being, there’s nothing you can do.

With everything else that had been going on, Chris had almost forgotten about his entire reason for going to Toronto in the first place. It hadn’t exactly been at the forefront of his mind until he heard the front door slam and Sebastian shouting, “Chris! Chris, you here?”

Chris soon found himself standing in front of Seb in the living room, staring expectantly.

“I got it.” He was a little winded with a few beads of sweat dotting his hairline. “Took a lot of phone calls and a little bit of yelling, maybe some bribery, but I got it.”

Folding his arms over his chest, Chris raised an eyebrow. His expression remained as stoic as he could manage, but that was probably just a result of his conflicting emotions. On one hand, he wanted to be happy. They were finally a giant leap closer to finding out who was doing this, and once they knew, they could certainly put a stop to it. On the other hand, however, how would he handle it? Obviously, it had to be one of his cast mates, one of his friends. Someone he trusted had basically been stalking his girlfriend.

Though it was less than a two second pause, it felt like minutes.

“And?” he prompted, impatiently awaiting an explanation.

“And you’re gonna be pissed, man.” Seb dug his phone out of his pocket, searching until he found exactly what he was looking for.

It was a picture of a piece of paper. At least that’s what Chris _thought_ it was until he zoomed in. Actually, it was a receipt. The receipt was from a store in Cleveland, specifically the only shop in Cleveland that carried the same charm Chris had seen on the bracelet delivered to her. His eyes roamed the details, looking for anything identifying. As soon as he saw it, he wished he hadn’t. The name scribbled in the signature block turned his stomach.

_Card #: xxxx-xxxx-xxxx-7693_

_Renner, Jeremy_

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ jokin’,” Chris grumbled, shaking his head. “It’s _him_?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be great! : )


	17. Q - Quesited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this being late and a bit shorter than usual, but I have big plans for the next few chapters and didn't want to rush the set-up.  
> Also, huge thanks to Jordan for helping me get through this chapter. If it weren't for them, I'd probably still be beating my head on the table, trying to figure out what the fuck I'm even doing.
> 
> <3

**quesited** – _adjective_

\- sought for; asked or enquired about

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

This was probably one of your worst nightmares come true.

The cops showed up within an hour of Chris’ arrival. They collected the box, the bracelet, and your fingerprints, as well as the security tapes for every hallway and staircase leading up to your apartment and statements from you and Chris about everything that had happened over the last year and a half. You figured all their paperwork would just end up stuffed in the bottom of a drawer somewhere, but at least they were aware of the situation. If something (God forbid) ever were to happen to you, they’d know who to look at first.

As soon as they left, Chris insisted you stay with him again for a few days. You tried to decline his offer, promising you’d be fine, but he just had to be stubborn. He was firm in his refusal to leave you alone, citing his concern for your safety and well-being. You weren’t even safe in your own home anymore, and once that set in, you caved.

In no time flat, you found yourself curled up on Chris’ couch in one of his t-shirts. Dodger had made himself comfortable in the curve of your legs, resting his head on your thigh. From the second you walked into the house, he hadn’t left your side.

When Chris came into the living room after making you a cup of tea, he was shaking his head.

“I swear, he loves you more than he loves me,” he chuckled, placing the mug in your hand. Leaning over, he kissed your forehead before telling Dodger to move over. Dodger opened one eye, then the other. Chris pointed to the opposite end of the couch, and his dog huffed back, closing his eyes again. With a stunned expression, your boyfriend looked to you, incredulously asking, “Did you just fuckin’ see that?”

You giggled, taking a sip of your tea and nodding.

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” Chris muttered with a grin, clearly amused. “Guess I’m sittin’ on the floor, then.”

“Dodger, scoot,” you told him, wiggling your leg to get his attention. Dodger opened his eyes again and looked at you for a second before standing, stretching, and moving to sit at the other end of the couch. Giving Chris a smile, you moved over to make room for him. He just stared at you, jaw dropped and wide-eyed.

“That little traitor! Next thing ya know, I’m gonna come home and find him in a fuckin’ Cowboys jersey!” Chris flopped in the empty space beside you and folded his arms across his chest like a pouting child. “Can’t believe my boy turned against me like that…”

Mimicking the playful grin he tried to suppress, you set your tea on the coffee table and cuddled up against him, nuzzling into his shoulder. He didn’t budge, still upholding the discouraged façade. You put a hand against his taut, flexed bicep.

“Don’t be a grump,” you cooed, kissing just under his defined jaw line. Chris’ jaw clenched as he bit the inside of his lip, struggling more to hide his smile. With another few pecks, he finally started loosening up, letting his arms drop. One hit his lap, but the other reached back to curl around your shoulders. He drew you in closer, planting a soft, sweet kiss on your lips.

“At least I have you,” Chris grumbled, mouth still just barely touching yours. Another little kiss and he started to pull away. Before he got too far, you chased down one more little smooch. He hummed out a low chuckle. “See, Dodger? _Someone_ still loves me.”

Indignantly, Dodger huffed. He snuggled up right behind your legs again. Absentmindedly, you reached to scratch between his ears, and Chris pressed his lips to your temple. You could feel the smile on his face.

“I could spend every day of the rest of my life like this.” His voice was hushed and sincere. “Relaxing with my two favorite people: my dog and my lady. Doesn’t get any better than this.”

Closing your eyes for a moment, you just listened to the calming rhythm of his heartbeat. He was absolutely right. Nothing could beat this.

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but being sandwiched between Dodger and Chris was comfortable. It was warm, and it gave you a sense of refuge, some peace of mind that you hadn’t felt in weeks. This was your sanctuary for the time being, and you knew for a fact that your boys would keep you safe. They wouldn’t let anything happen to you.

Unfortunately, the illusion of safety didn’t quite follow you into your dreams. Behind your eyelids, you could still see Edward Small’s face: his twitchy nose, those bottomless black eyes, the ring of wiry, spidery hairs outlining the balding spot on top of his head. And worse, you could hear his voice. It was high-pitched and nasally, like nails on a chalkboard. He practically haunted you. Chasing you, he blocked you in at every twist and turn. It’s like there were dozens of him, hundreds, thousands… You couldn’t seem to shake him, no matter where you ran. And every time he cornered you, he’d begin to laugh. If there was any sound more horrifying than his voice, it was his laugh. It sounded like an even split of a rumble of thunder and the pained shriek of woman in labor. That just made you want to scream, and scream you did.

Chris jarred you awake, his arms holding you fast to his chest.

“Sssshhhh,” he breathed out, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay, baby. I’m right here. You’re safe.”

A thin sheet of sweat coated your skin. Wet trails down your cheeks implied that you’d been crying without realizing it. You hadn’t noticed that you were gasping for breath, chest aching with every accompanying heave.

“Chris,” you choked out, grasping a fistful of his shirt. Burying your face in his chest, you swallowed down a sob. His fingertips stroked your back carefully as he pulled you carefully into his lap. Dodger sighed, crawling forward to nuzzle his head between you and Chris placatingly.

“It was just a bad dream, baby, I promise. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” With a shaky inhale, you finally looked up, meeting the look of sincerity in his eyes. “Don’t worry. Come tomorrow, we’ll be far away from here. You won’t have t’ think about any of this bullshit. It’ll just be me and you and the east coast.”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. The two of you hadn’t made any plans for a trip any time soon. Hell, you hadn’t even made plans for next week.

“What do you mean?” Chris’ look of concern brightened into a beaming smile that was still somewhat sheepish.

“Guess I kinda ruined the surprise, so I better just tell you now…” A little mischief mixed into his grin as his hand moved to grasp yours. “I’m headin’ back to Boston tomorrow for a bit. Thought it might be nice to take you home with me.”

 

*

 

Chris wasn’t kidding. By ten o’clock the following morning, the two of you were comfortably seated on your plane. He was caught up in his book while you were lost in the music pumping through your headphones. Through the entire flight, he kept one hand tangled up with yours.

It wasn’t until you were up in the air, halfway across the country, that you realized what this meant. You hadn’t even considered that this trip wasn’t solely a surprise vacation. He had two reasons… One: he wanted to get you out of LA. The farther away you were, the easier it would be for you to relax. Two: he wanted you to meet his family.

Sure, you’d discussed it briefly. His family sounded absolutely wonderful, and you mentioned it’d be an absolute honor to meet them. But nothing had yet been set in stone. Were you really ready for this? You supposed you had to be because it was happening, whether you were ready or not.

You ran into a few hiccups on your way through the airport. Chris was recognizable enough, even with his baseball cap and sunglasses, but you put him in the Logan International Airport, and you got an entire shitstorm. Left and right, he was stopped for autographs and photos. More than a handful of them were also familiar enough with you to ask for selfies and signings. You happily obliged, since it seemingly took a little of the edge off of Chris’ anxiety.

Following a five and a half hour flight and another forty-five minutes to get through the airport itself, stepping out into the fresh air was refreshing. That Boston breeze greeted you like an old friend (even though you’d never been there before) with a kind, warm hug. Chris dangled the keys to the rental car in front of you.

“Wanna drive?”

You shook your head, pushing his hand back towards him.

“No way. You’re from here. You’re used to the scenery. I want to be able to look at it without worrying about putting us in a ditch or rear-ending someone.” You paused a moment, taking in his smile. “Besides, I have no idea where we’re going.”

“Yeah, figured there was an ulterior motive,” he chuckled, pulling you in to a one-armed hug.

After another half an hour in the car, you exited I-90 and approached a quaint town, far less busy than the hustle and bustle of the city. You passed a white sign bearing “Entering Sudbury”, and you knew it wouldn’t be much longer.

Chris pointed out buildings on the drive through, often accompanied with stories from his childhood. Most of them were funny, but some of them were entirely sentimental. He drove past his old high school, recounting a few tales of good times and how he cried when Scott graduated a couple years after he did (though he told you if you ever told anyone that, he’d adamantly deny it). Once he’d had his fill of nostalgia, he took you home.

“Bedroom is at the end of the hall if you wanna set your bag in there,” he murmured, kissing your forehead. “I gotta call my Ma real quick. Let her know we made it safely.”

You nodded as he tapped away at his screen, hiking your duffle bag up on your shoulder and heading towards his room. Closing the door behind you, you set your things at the foot of the bed and immediately went for his closet. You had to get out of your travel clothes. They smelled like fast food and airports, neither of which were pleasant. You’d shower later, but for now, you just needed to be in something clean.

His closet was full of button-downs, blazers, polos, and slacks, folded and pressed neatly on hangers to avoid wrinkles. Not a single t-shirt in sight. You were just about to give up when something blue caught your eye. It was a brighter blue than the muted shades in the front, though not by much. Pulling a bunch of shirts forward, you quickly realized that it was a Patriots shirt. Of course, the _only_ t-shirt in his damn closet was a freaking Pats shirt. Sighing internally, you tugged it gently off the hanger.

Tossing your other clothes on top of your bag, you put the shirt on. Admittedly, it looked pretty good on you. The hem fell in just the right place, the sleeves weren’t _too_ long, and the design was subtle enough that it didn’t scream Patriots with just a quick glance.

“Yeah, Ma. I love you too.” You could hear Chris coming down the hall. “I’ll see you tomorrow, ‘kay? Mmhmm. Bye, Ma.”

The door opened with no protest while you were packing your other clothes away. Chris hovered in the doorway for a moment before stuffing his phone in his pocket. As soon as he spied your shirt (or rather, his shirt that you’d temporarily stolen), he chuckled.

“Lookin’ good, baby,” he chirped, moving to peck your lips before approaching his dresser. From the drawers, he pulled new boxers, a clean t-shirt (so that’s where he kept them!), and a pair of jeans. “I’m gonna throw in a load of laundry. Got anything you need to wash?”

You nodded, pointing to your bag.

“I’m gonna have to wash the whole two outfits I have since _someone_ didn’t tell me to pack for more than just overnight.”

Chris snickered, wrapping his free arm around your waist.

“I’ll take you shopping after breakfast tomorrow, I promise. Didn’t wanna ruin the surprise by telling you to pack enough for a week.” His apology was carefully wrapped in the sweet, soft kiss he gave you. You returned it in kind, showing your acceptance. But all went haywire when he decided that was the right time to give your lower lip a sharp nip. “Now whaddya say we christen this house too?”

You couldn’t very well say no to that. Not to him. Not here. Not right now.

So you responded by pulling his shirt off of yourself and tossing it aside.

 

*

 

“You’re gonna model it all again for me, right?” Chris asked, gesturing with his head to the pile of plastic bags on the floor. He stood in front of you, arms slung low around your hips. Leaning up, you placed a soft, sensual kiss on his lips, running your tongue over the lower before pulling away.

“Only if you’re a good boy at dinner.” Before he realized what you were up to, you perched on the edge of the couch and started cutting the tags off your purchases.

As promised, Chris had woken you up somewhat early the next morning to go shopping. You shared a hot shower, great for relieving the tension in your muscles from the previous night’s activities. Chris made a quick breakfast after, and the two of you were back on the interstate by nine.

The two of you visited all sorts of shops. You bought yourself a few cute new outfits for your time on the east coast. Of course, you had to show Chris literally everything you tried on. He made you promise before the two of you even got out of the car. That included the few pieces of lingerie he insisted on buying for you at the last little boutique you visited.

Following the excursion, the two of you stopped at a nice little café just on the edge of the city for a wonderful lunch. While waiting for your food, Chris swiped through the photo gallery on his phone, showing you all the cute selfies and silly pictures the two of you had taken throughout the morning. After you got your food, you kept stealing fries off each other’s plates, and Chris drew an incredibly lopsided heart on your burger with ketchup. It was accompanied with a goofy smile and him leaning across the table to give you a quick peck.

“Baby, you’re killin’ me. Sure we don’t have time for a quickie?”

You shook your head firmly.

“Christopher, we are not going to be late for dinner with your family.” He groaned and flopped down beside you, burying his face in your neck. The stubble lining his jaw scraped across the sensitive skin, sending a chill down your spine. As much as you’d love to spend this entire trip naked and in bed with Chris, it was way too important for you to make a good first impression. You couldn’t very well do that if you two showed up late, looking all flushed and fucked out.

“Fine,” he whined, dragging out the word. “You go get ready. I’m gonna throw these in the washer so you have something to wear.”

Chris stood up and started gathering the clothes scattered across the living room floor. You sat back for a second, watching him. Domestic Chris was absolutely adorable. You didn’t see this side of him very often, especially not in his own home. He was certainly a gracious host, but you never saw him doing the mundane daily tasks.

When he finished gathering clothes, he caught you staring.

“What? Rethinking that quickie?” You shook your head, giving him a soft smile.

“No, just checking out your ass. Definitely a nice one.” Chris chuckled, reminding you that you really need to go get ready. You jumped off the couch, swatting that perfect backside of his playfully and headed for the hall.

“And baby?” he called, making you pause.

“Yeah?” You glanced over your shoulder to see him smiling from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, matching his grin as you resumed your trek to the bathroom.

That little exchange set your heart on fire. The two of you traded those words on a daily basis, but it was a little bit different this time. There was something new about it. It was like the first time he said it, only better somehow. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you. Maybe it was the fact that he was standing there, holding a load of laundry that wasn’t even his, with a smile wider than the Pacific. Or maybe it was the fact that he was thinking the same thing you were…

How would he feel about making this permanent? Would he want the two of you to live together?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be fantastic. : )

**Author's Note:**

> Harass me on tumblr: @sebeefstianstan


End file.
